No Omen, No Country's Cause
by BlizzWeirdo
Summary: The UED returns to the Koprulu sector, and Vice Adm. Alexei Stukov must decide where his loyalties lie-with Horner's new Terran Republic and Umoja, or his long lost home, Earth. The answer is more complicated than it may seem. This story fleshes out Stukov's backstory and has OC, but remains close to canon. Chapters are serial and change POV. Has romantic elements.
1. Chapter 1: Unexpected Threat

"Five minutes to air time, people. Let's get moving!" Kate Lockwell paced behind Admiral Matthew Horner as he stood at his podium. From the side of the makeshift stage, she shouted at a few people in the wings. "Tim! Where's Kallie with the other camera?"

"The replacement lens didn't come in. Wasn't a 'priority' shipment and didn't make it through customs. She knows a guy uptown, and she's going to borrow one. She'll be back in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen?!"

"We'll start without her! It'll be fine. No one will notice we're down a camera."

"They'll notice if we're down two presidential debaters... Where're my challenger candidates?" Kate Lockwell stopped on her heel and put her hand on the shoulder of Horner's blue suit. "Well, if there's one thing that I can say for you military types, at least you're punctual, Mr. President." She winked at him, and before he could respond, she was gone. Horner leaned over the podium and looked into the "audience." In the makeshift broadcast room, there were about two-dozen seats, all of which were full, taken up by journalists from around the sector-Umoja, Moria, and even some of the outlying, unaligned colonies. All were there to see the baby steps of Tarsonis's new government as it transitioned from the Terran Dominion to the Terran Republic.

Horner reflected on the events that led up to this moment-and his interim presidency. After defeating Amon and negotiating peace with the zerg under Zagara, Valerian Mengsk had begun focusing on rebuilding Tarsonis and Korhal, and that's when the political shitstorm started. The Dominion needed the Umojan Protectorate's help, but they refused to acknowledge a "medieval monarchy spawned by a dictator" as a valid government even though it was constitutional. The Umojans also released more information about Valerian that was potentially damaging-that the labs run by Moebius Corp. had been more closely supervised by him than he had originally let on. Skygeirr Station was where his egregious abuses had occurred. Horner had asked him, man-to-man, what he actually knew. He had told him that he was only aware they were performing experiments on zerg and xel'naga tissues-he didn't know about the hybrid breeding program. But he did know about what they were doing to UED POW Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov. Valerian said that he willingly turned a blind eye to their torturous experiments because he thought it vital, at the time, to finding a way to neutralize Sara Kerrigan. Whether it was because he was UED or because he was infested and technically zerg, news reports focused on the hybrids and glossed over the torture of someone Raynor had considered a brilliant and decent man. If it bothered Valerian, it was hard to see, which made Horner watchful of him now, waiting for more of his father to emerge. _The Umojan Protectorate had a point_ , Horner thought.

Valerian was forced to step down, and his cabinet named Horner as his interim successor until the Terran Republic could build its infrastructure enough to hold an election. The Umojan Protectorate began helping Tarsonis pick up the pieces of the coup against Arcturus Mengsk and the invasion by the Queen of Blades. It had been five years, and Horner was just now thinking that he had the hang of governing-and now he would have to publicly debate other candidates and run for the position to keep it for another five years. Even so, Horner had doubts about his leadership capabilities. _Raynor should be up here-not me,_ he thought. But he knew that would never have worked. Jim Raynor had not wanted to lead even when he was with the Raiders. _Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them,_ Horner thought, _Valerian was the first, Raynor the second..._ But Valerian was disgraced and Raynor had vanished. _Hopefully I'm the third..._ After Valerian stepped down and the smoke cleared, there weren't many other options.

Horner took a deep breath and thumbed again through his notes on the datapad in front of him. His main talking points were those of national security. They had been burned before by outside threats. Other than a few outlying factions, the protoss were their allies, but on the other hand, the zerg, even with Zagara leading them, could be fractured by a new leader-just as Abathur almost had done. Worse, if Horner had learned anything, it was the threat that could not be predicted that always _...bites you in the ass._ Restructuring was also critical. The military needed its academies back online, and the education system-especially on Tarsonis-needed new buildings, updated materials, and a staff that was not praising the "glory of the Dominion." Trade deals with the Kel-Morians and the Umojan Protectorate to bring food and other resources to people who needed it were his other sticking points. _Things we can all agree on, not too detailed, and enough to talk about but not enough to make me look like a boring, stuffed uniform-I hope._

Finally, one of the other candidates entered the studio. The journalists all stood at once, their cameras flashing as she strode in. He recognized her; It was Dr. Joan Slavens, a philosophy professor at Tarsonis City Colonial University, the largest and most prestigious public university on Tarsonis-before it was shut down by the Dominion. She had settled into being a nuisance via private broadcasts during the war. Horner had watched a few of them. Dr. Slavens was a good speaker, and she had the air of a rumpled intellectual with her barely-tamed blonde curls and wrinkled tweed jacket. She waved warmly to the journalists. This made him even more nervous. Dr. Slavens was a well-known personality and respected. She already had a following, and it would be easy for her to build a bloc of voters. He, on the other hand, had name recognition and was a war hero, but on the other he was a compatriot of the now-controversial Valerian Mengsk; his alliances could make someone's decision either way.

Dr. Slavens took her place at the podium next to Horner's and adjusted her microphone, tapping on it to test it. She put her hand over it and turned to Horner, giving him a rueful smile.

"Of course, Mr. Marinakis isn't here yet. I hope his freighters are timelier than he is."

"You have some experience with Marcos Marinakis?"

"Unfortunately, yes. He told me he would let me interview him for my vids a half a dozen times... He was a no-show on half of them and more than an hour late on the rest. We could be here a while. I mean, this only a presidential debate, after all. I'm sure his business brunch was much more pressing."

"Well, if he's much later, we'll have to start without him."

Marcos Marinakis was a shipping magnate-one of the few that wasn't Kel-Morian. He had a reputation of being loud and obnoxious but shrewd in business. Some people believed that would make him good at guiding the Republic, but Horner didn't really see him as a threat. Because of his manner and what inevitably comes out about anyone who runs a large company, he was by far a long shot.

Horner's thoughts were interrupted by a low rumble far in the distance. It shook the building, and a little bit of plaster rained from the ceiling.

"What the hell was that?" Lockwell said. Horner's security detail, two marines in street combat gear, came in from outside the room. The journalists began to fidget and whisper amongst themselves as their presence.

"Mr. President, we have reports of an attack on the outskirts of town heading inward to our position. We need to get you all to a secure location."

"Where?" Horner said, over the gasps and hushed talking of the journalists in the audience.

"The basement of this building is a nuclear bunker. We should be able to hide out there."

Horner sprang into action. "All right everyone, listen," Horner said into the microphone. "We're all going to do this quietly and without panicking. Please follow these gentlemen downstairs. Keep aware of your surroundings..." There was another rumble and the power went out. Horner shouted over the din of fighting and the journalists talking nervously among themselves, "And don't panic!"

The journalists filed out of the room with Horner taking up the rear. He paused to look out the window. Republic troops had began flooding into the streets, and before them, a nydus canal had opened. The infested crawled from its maw, waves of them flooding over abandoned hovercars and the makeshift barriers soldiers had constructed along the way. In the distance, a siege tank and a platoon of Terran Republic marines began firing at them, but were overwhelmed by the sea of flesh and poison almost instantly. With dread, Horner realized there could be only one person responsible: Stukov.

 _And there's the threat we didn't anticipate._


	2. Chapter 2: The Return

_8 hours earlier._

 **BRAXIS: 01:55 UST**

Stukov gazed from the bridge of the _Aleksander_ onto the endless night of space. Below was Braxis; in the distance, Kerrigan's leviathan loomed like a small moon above the planet. From it he could hear the singing psionic howl of the zerg working in unison: adapting, evolving, spawning. He let the noise of his brood wash over him, eroding his sense of self. The _Aleksander_ was empty and quiet except for the faint guttural noises of its infestation and the whir of the few electronic systems that still worked. It was almost 0200 hours by the ship's clock, but he was still awake. He never slept now. He didn't need to. There were few human things he needed to do—or even wanted to—breathe ( _no loss there,_ he thought), eat ( _a waste of time; everything tastes like sawdust now anyway_ ), and drink ( _I only miss drinking because I can't anesthetize myself anymore_ ).

Ironically, it was the zerg that had made him start drinking so heavily in the first place. When the first ghost scouts returned with intel on the zerg and he was assigned to assessing them as a threat, his drinking had devolved into alcoholism, much to the dismay of his wife and family. He became estranged from them. Then he was dragged away to the Koprulu sector by his "friend" DuGalle out of misplaced loyalty. Stukov thought DuGalle knew how powerful the zerg were and how easily they could get out of hand. _But now... Maybe it was for the best. I have achieved a clarity of thought I never thought possible._ But not, he knew, without losing his family, his humanity, and his home.

The clarity was disfiguring. He recognized that his thoughts were becoming more and more alien. He commanded the infested and his zerg more closely now, using Abathur (after Zagara finally banished him for his ideological differences) to enhance them. His zerg were more connected to him after Abathur's machinations, bred to respond only to his commands. But the more they were connected to him, the more he felt like his thoughts were losing structure. Being Alexei Stukov was harder and harder. To him, it was like mentally treading water to keep his head above a roaring psionic sea. On his worst days, he gave in, but something animal—human and animal—would claw him back out of the tide of the Swarm. He fought against the Swarm now, clearing his thoughts, just to demonstrate to himself he still could.

He thought of his ex-wife and children. Their faces were indistinct. A sadness washed over him. After being killed, raised, infested, de-infested, re-infested, incarcerated, liberated, and then finally exacting his revenge on his former captors, this is how, Stukov realized, his humanity would die—by degrees in a war of attrition with the Swarm. He couldn't remain with the Swarm and stay human; he couldn't go back to humanity and stay ahead of those who would inevitably hunt him. Stukov thought of the scene he had discovered on the _Aleksander_ when he had found and salvaged it: his friend, his message, and his death.

 _Maybe Gerard had the right idea._

He heard the console beside him spin up before the alert on it even registered-a quirk of his zerg-modified hearing. The comm system registered an "official fleet communique" coming through.

 _Impossible._

Stukov checked the frequency and encryption. What he saw seemed to confirm what the comm system said: there was a UED ship nearby broadcasting on an official channel. Stukov was too stunned to react. His people were here in the Koprulu sector. The UED had returned.

 _So, what happens now?_ He thought. If he had been fully human, he would go back immediately and report. But he wasn't. He of course feared their reaction. They would perhaps accept him if he added his brood to their fleet. But on the other hand, they might betray him, and he'd end up home as an experiment in the labs he once ran. Or worse, they would execute him as a traitor and make a triumphant propaganda vid about it. Even if they did accept him, he couldn't-or rather wouldn't-help them. He had no country now, and he had more allies in the Koprulu sector than he did on Earth. While not helping the UED seemed traitorous, turning his back on his allies in this sector seemed like an equal measure of betrayal. In any case, he needed to find out if it was still their mission to eradicate the zerg. _It's better to know now before the noose is around my neck._

With a few taps, he sent out the coded handshake sequence of the _Aleksander_ but set it as an automated distress call. They would come expecting salvage and instead find him waiting. And then, maybe, he could gauge if he should speak with them—or find out if he needed to keep out of their way.


	3. Chapter 3: Salvage

**Lore note:** So, the original colonial ships that went to the Koprulu sector spent twenty-eight years getting there-at warp speed. I'm assuming that this was at 1x the speed of light (making the Koprulu sector 28 lightyears away), and that since technology has progressed, they can now make the journey more quickly (at about 5x light speed, more or less). This would explain why the UED doesn't come there more often, even though _SC: Brood War_ makes it seem like it doesn't take long to get there. This messes with Stukov's age a bit, making him have a real age of 47 at his death and a chronological age of 52.

Also, American carrier names are lame. That's the only reason the carrier is named after the _Admiral_ _Kuznetsov_. Like, seriously. Go look them up.

 **UNITED EARTH DIRECTORATE DESTROYER FLEET, _CARRIER KUZNETSOV_**

Captain Carolyn Dauphin woke from cold sleep shaking uncontrollably and dry heaving. Around her she watched several other people emerge from their cryostasis pods. Katie Dean, her navigator and second sat up slightly in her pod and then laid back down with her arms over her head, groaning. Wincing, she closed her eyes.

"Closing your eyes just makes it worse, KD. It's like sea sickness."  
"I'm gonna hurl."  
"No, you aren't. You didn't eat anything beforehand like everyone el—"

KD sat up suddenly and vomited violently on the floor. The smell was horrendous and people around her started heaving. That food had been in her stomach for five years—frozen, of course—but not exactly kept fresh. A few people in other rows started clapping and whistling.

"Nice job, KD. Way to cement our reputation among the Destroyer fleet."  
"I'm sorry! I didn't think it would be that big of a..."

Their conversation was cut short by the ship-wide intercom chiming on.  
"Attention, everyone. This is Admiral Reeves of the _Fleet Carrier Kuznetsov_. We have all arrived safely in the Koprulu sector. Please avail yourselves of any cryostims you need. Food and drink will be available shortly. All personnel must be at their posts in two hours. Compose yourself and be ready to report. Our great destiny approaches for all of us here in our conquest of the zerg and the Koprulu sector. For Earth!"  
"For Earth!" All the marines around them shouted.  
"For humanity!" The marines echoed Admiral Reeves statement again.

Something about it made Dauphin uneasy. _Do they not know what happened to the Expeditionary Fleet?_ This was take two for the UED fleet, launching as soon as they could after losing contact with the Expeditionary Fleet. Her family had been career military for many generations and she knew the enthusiasm that she felt around her. It was naïve and uneducated—two things that the UED military was good at preying upon. Her own duties were troop positioning and evac; she and KD piloted a shuttle together which put them in the thick of battle but never on the front lines. She knew these people, the enthusiastic ones, would probably go first. She shivered, but it wasn't the cryostasis.

"Come on, KD. Let's get you cleaned up."  
The attendant on the cryostasis floor eyed them walking out into the hallway as Dauphin half-dragged KD out the door.  
"What's wrong with her?"  
"Uhhh, she's really nauseated. That's all."  
The smell of the vomit on her clothes hit him.  
"Ugh, you ate? What is wrong with you? What part of 'don't eat 12 hours before cyrostasis' did you not understand? It's literally one of five rules..."  
"Oh my god, I'm sorry."  
"What is your name? You're getting reprimanded."  
"Is that really necessary?" Dauphin said more angrily than she meant.  
"You too then."  
"Oh, fuck off," KD said. _Oh, here we go_ , Dauphin thought.  
"What did you just say to me?"  
"Look, I'm Carolyn Dauphin, and she's Katie Dean. Can I go get her cleaned up now? She smells like a garbage can." The attendant wrote their names down and waved them on. Dauphin hauled KD into the hall. "What is wrong with you?"  
"Stickler motherfucker."  
"Sure, but can we not get in trouble five minutes after getting here?"  
"Ugh, fine."

The two of them made their way into the women's showers. To Dauphin, the water felt like hot needles all over her body after being in cryostasis for so long. As she was finishing up, she turned to see KD with her forehead resting against the wall under a shower head, unmoving. Hot water streamed through her blond hair making her back slightly red. She must feel really bad.

"Hey, KD, snap out of it. We have to report for our orders."  
KD waved a hand at her without moving away from the wall. Dauphin left to dress, pushing her way through the dozens of other women also groggily stumbling in and out of the shower. KD may have been erratic and a bit of a mess, but they had been friends for years after being thrown together during conscription. They'd survived five years of colonial wars in their own backyard and this was no different. _Except for the zerg... and the protoss... and the fact that the last fleet to this god-forsaken place never made it back._

Dauphin stood in line at one of the many requisition kiosks with everyone else on the ship. Her uniform had been in her assigned locker, but she'd need a sidearm and a datapad. The banality the situation—waiting in boredom—took the edge off the nervousness she felt at being there. She had been waiting twenty minutes before KD reappeared, her hair still wet and her uniform askew. She butted in line beside Dauphin, much to the dismay of the people behind them.

"Feeling any better?"  
"No. But I'm hungry."  
"Of course you are."

It took almost an hour for the both of them to get their side arms and datapads. Then it was one line into another in the commissary where they waited again for food. Dauphin thumbed through her mail. She hadn't received their orders yet.

"That's weird..." She said to herself.  
"What. What's weird?" KD said, peering over her shoulder.  
"No orders yet."  
"Well, that's good... We won't be late for anything."  
"No, but we should have something."  
"Don't worry about it. You worry about everything."

It wasn't until they sat down that Dauphin received their orders. Dauphin opened them hesitantly. It was becoming real again even through the cacophony of the commissary around her. The first part was boilerplate—the impersonal pep talk that everyone received with their orders. But the rest was unexpected. "A salvage mission?" She said, more loudly than she had intended. KD took the datapad out of her hand.

"The _Aleksander_? What a crap assignment."  
"This has to be your fault."  
"What?"  
"You made us look like idiots!"  
"I just barfed! Everyone was nauseated!"

Dauphin grabbed her datapad back from KD. She didn't know why she was disappointed, but she was. If KD had really screwed up and got them blacklisted, it might mean they wouldn't end up in the first battle or on the front lines. She pushed her food around her plate while KD wolfed hers down. Something about the mission troubled her. How was the _Aleksander_ even in a large enough piece after all this time to be found, much less send a distress call? The operation would be ghoulish. The whole crew was most likely dead. She didn't like the idea of boarding a ghost ship.

Dauphin was momentarily distracted. Two tables away from her, a tall man—or a kid really—was staring at her. He was a ghost, judging by his uniform—and a young one. He could not have been much older than the minimum age of conscription. He looked away when she noticed him.

"I don't know what you're so worked up about. So we go on a salvage mission? So what? We go in, we pick up whatever we can, scan the rest and get out. A few hours, tops. Then, we'll get another assignment," KD said between bites.  
"Do you even know what the _Aleksander_ was?"  
KD shrugged, her mouth full of food. "Flagship. Admiral DuGalle. Blah blah blah."  
"Yes, it was the flagship. But they were trying to control the zerg as a weapon. Did you hear the rumors?"  
"No..."  
"The second in command was a weapons researcher or something... Experimental weapons and tactics... I forget his name..."

Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed the ghost she had seen before sit down quietly a chair away, facing her, looking at her intently.  
"Stukov," he said. Dauphin looked at him, confused and slightly annoyed he had been listening.  
"What?"  
"That was his name."  
"Is that right... And who are you?"  
"Greg..." He stopped. "I'm sorry, I interrupted you." Color rose in his pale cheeks, and he looked down at the table. The "kid" was so demure it was disarming.  
"What do you want?" Dauphin said brusquely. KD looked up from her food finally and gave her a look that meant "be nice." Greg's eyes darted between the two. There was something unsettling about him. It may have been the ghost training, how wan he was, or the slightly odd cadence to his voice.  
"You're Dauphin, yes? You're going to the _Aleksander_?"  
"How do you know who I am?"  
"I'm a ghost. And I have high clearance because of certain... affiliations. I wanted to go on the mission..."  
"They wouldn't let you?"  
"I didn't ask. I didn't want to call attention to myself."  
"Okay, so why do you care about a salvage mission but not enough to put yourself on it?"  
"I... would rather not explain. But... Here, let me give you something." Greg pulled an ID card out of his pocket and slid it over to her with his long, thin fingers. Dauphin picked it up. It was holographic and an old design—and very worn. On it was a UED officer's face—stern, square, and dark-haired but graying at the temples. He wasn't very photogenic. The ident card flipped between two versions of the ID, one in English and the other in Cyrillic characters. It was credentials for a lab that she had never heard of and was many years expired. "When you go there, if you can find anything with his name on it or what might have been his—personal effects, uniforms, files, anything—will you bring it back to me?"  
"What's in it for us?" Dauphin said suspiciously.  
"Whatever you want. In reason. Both my parents are gone now... I have an inheritance..."  
"How big?" KD piped up. Dauphin ignored her. She could tell it was important to him for whatever reason.  
"We'll look, but it's been a long time. And that ship's gotta be in a million pieces," Dauphin said.  
"We can talk terms when you return."  
Dauphin waved her hand, dismissing his offer. "Just buy us drinks when we get back, kid." Greg nodded, looking relieved.  
"Thank you."

Greg rose silently from the chair and disappeared into the crowd.  
"What was that about?" KD said.  
"I don't know... But maybe this mission'll be more interesting than we thought."


	4. Chapter 4: Mementos

The shuttle was closing on the _Aleksander_ 's signal, but its location was still unclear. The signal appeared on the scanner as coming from an asteroid belt two light years from the _Aleksander_ 's last known position, but the asteroid belt was dense with objects-both large and small-that Dauphin had to avoid. Worse, the heavy metals in the asteroid fragments caused havok with the shuttle's sensors, creating ghosts on their radar. But then, from behind a moon-sized asteroid, emerged what looked like the bloated carcass of a dead space-faring zerg, mutilated in some way. But as it turned, adrift in space, it took on a familiar form.

"Oh shit," KD said quietly, "Is that the _Aleksander_?"  
"What's left of it," Dauphin said. The main drive section; the long, thin, docking platform; and the forward hull were stitched together with the pulsating flesh of the zerg. In some places, the metal hull jutted out like a carapace. In others, a skin of infestation stretched out over its sides, moving in rhythm like the flanks of a living thing. _It probably is alive_ , Dauphin thought.

"What do we do?" KD said quietly, looking at Dauphin wide-eyed.  
"Sgt. Chang, you might want to come up here," Dauphin said, raising her voice so she could be heard in the shuttle's hold.

Moments later, Chang, in his bulky CMC, squeezed through the cockpit door. He looked past her, squinting into the distance at the _Aleksander_.  
"It's not hostile?"  
"Not yet."

Chang looked thoughtful for a moment. "Then move in closer. See how it reacts."  
Dauphin gently nudged the throttle on the shuttle forward, firing the aft thruster. The shuttle moved slowly towards the _Aleksander_. The infested battlecruiser's tentacles waved in the void listlessly. The ship did not react.  
"Do you think it's dead?" KD asked, hopefulness creeping into her voice.  
"Looks like it," Dauphin said, trying to calm her friend.  
"Stay frosty, ladies. Get ready to bail."

The shuttle inched closer—close enough to see what was left of the lettering on the hull, confirming it was indeed the _Aleksander_. Dauphin maneuvered the shuttle alongside it. To her amazement, part of the docking area looked clean enough—and its door was open.  
"Do you think you can land on it?" Chang said.  
"Uhh, I don't know..." Dauphin said cautiously.  
"I've seen your record, Dauphin. That was a rhetorical question. Take us in," Chang said, annoyance creeping into his voice.  
KD snapped her head around to look at Chang, "Oh god, you're not serious, right?"  
"Relax, kid."

Dauphin maneuvered slowly into one of the docking bays, matching speed as the Aleksander turned in space. The bay door closed slowly behind them as they entered. KD uttered a strangled cry.  
"Now what? Are we trapped in here?" KD said.  
"Nah, we can blast our way out if we need to… Let's look around." Chang snapped the visor on his helmet down. "You girls get in your suits. No telling what's in the air in here." Chang roused Cpl. Hernandez, who had been snoring into his comm since halfway into the journey. Hernandez began unpacking their armaments. KD and Dauphin pulled their atmo suits out of a locker. As Dauphin put hers on, her anxiety mounted. Dauphin didn't understand the goal of the salvage mission now. They should have turned tail when they saw the ship had been infested. She had felt anger at Chang for challenging her, but that feeling was gone. Now, she was just scared, and looking at KD, she realized she was worse off than her and plainly terrified. KD could barely put her suit on for shaking.

"Should we even be here?" KD whispered. Dauphin didn't answer as she put on her helmet and stepped through the cockpit door. Dauphin confronted Chang as they waited on Hernandez to pass each one of them a weapon.  
"This place is obviously overrun with zerg. What do we hope to find?"  
"Data," Chang said, his voice tinny over the hiss of recycled air picked up by his comm, "If this bucket has enough power to shut the docking bay door, the main computer has to be functioning. Any data we can get from its core might help us control the sector."  
"You know they lost, right?"  
"Yeah, but maybe now we'll know why." Chang turned to KD. "Are there any lifesigns? We can at least know what we're walking into." KD let out a frustrated sigh as she looked at her console.  
"Yes and no... the whole ship is a lifesign. Can't see shit."  
"Well, we'll just have to keep our eyes open," Chang said as he hefted his rifle. "Just follow us and keep an eye out behind us."  
"Y'all ready yet?" Hernandez said, his hand on the release lever for the shuttle's door now that he had given KD and Dauphin a sidearm and himself and Chang a rifle.  
"Yeah, let's go," Dauphin said.

The door hissed open and the four of them stepped out onto what used to be the _Aleksander_ 's hangar bay. The ground was soft under Dauphin's feet and sucked on her boots as she walked away from the shuttle. Something from above dripped onto her helmet. She looked up. Above her, the ceiling looked like the ribcage of a massive animal, wet with fluids and covered in a thin skin. KD followed her gaze.  
"Ugh, this place is going to make me hurl again."  
"Wouldn't be a good idea in your helmet," Chang chimed in over the comm. "Try to ignore it."  
"Good luck," Hernandez said, "place is like walking through a slaughter house."  
"Yeah, but at least my onboard computer is saying the air in here is clean. Put your suits' air systems on filter. We may need our tanks later."

Dauphin obediently turned off her tank and switched her suit to filter the outside air. The smell hit her immediately. It was like wet dog, sweat, and dried blood. She could hear KD retching over her comm.  
"Fuck. My eyes are watering," Hernandez said, choking, "I thought you said this air was clean."  
"It is. Damn ship's not though."

Dauphin was relieved to find that the inner parts of the ship were less penetrated by the zerg. There were patches of skin and tendrils on the walls and in corners, but the floor and ceiling were mostly clear. If the ship had survived a crash or an external beating, Dauphin realized, it would make sense that the outer parts were more infested. The four of them walked through the ship in silence. KD and Dauphin walked backwards behind the two marines, the lights from their pistols shining down the hallway. Hernandez and Chang looked ahead, the lights on their rifles trained into the darkness. To their surprise, they saw nothing. No zerglings, drones, or even any of the small, fast-moving zerg that accompanied infestations. And, Dauphin thought, _No infested humans, thank god. That's would scare the shit out of me._  
They reached an elevator.

"I think its wishful thinking that the lifts work," Chang said, but he jammed the button with his fist anyway. To all of their surprise, the mechanism inside whirred to life albeit in a wet, rattling way. The door opened in front of them with a strangled, off-note chime.  
"Hell no. I'm not going in there," Hernandez said.  
"Do you really want to crawl through a bunch of zerg-slimed access tubes?" Chang was not impressed by his colleagues' bravery.  
"I'm not going in there either," KD said shakily.  
"All right," Chang said, dislodging the flashlight from his rifle and tossing it into the elevator, "let's test it." Chang reached in and pressed a button on its interior control panel. The door chimed again and slid haltingly closed. The inner workings came to life again. The noise it made sounded to Dauphin like someone sucking thick liquid through a straw or breathing with a respiratory ailment. It was disgusting, just like everything else on the ship.

Chang hit the call button again after a few seconds. The noises inside continued then stopped. After a few moments they started again and came closer. The door chimed and opened again. Chang's flashlight was inside undisturbed.  
"Right. Come on, let's go." Chang motioned the group onto the elevator and activated the control panel. "This ship is just like the _Cortez_. I served on that ship my last tour. If we go up to the officer's deck, we should be able to take another elevator to the bridge. There should be a way to access its databanks there." Dauphin couldn't believe her luck. They would walk right past the Admiral and Vice Admiral's quarters. She had been afraid that they would have to either ditch Chang and Hernandez or forget about Greg's request, but now it might be feasible to duck away and find something for him.

The color ran from KD's face as the elevator started moving. It shuddered and scraped the sides of the elevator shaft as it made its way upwards. Despite the noise, it stopped at the right floor and opened its doors. Chang and Hernandez cautiously stepped out into the hallway, their guns drawn. Dauphin watched as the lights on their rifles swept the hallway, finding nothing but more infestation.

"The lift to the bridge is at the end of this hallway. Move slowly and let us take the lead."  
Hernandez and Chang made their way down the hall. Dauphin and KD listened to their comm chatter; Hernandez complained about how large the officer's quarters were in comparison to his own berth and Chang waxed philosophically about how the hierarchy of benefits like admiralty apartments in the UED's military was hypocritical in the scope of current UED political discourse. Hernandez was clearly not interested. Dauphin changed her comm frequency and counted it out for KD with her hand. KD switched her frequency as well.

"Stukov's quarters should be on this floor. Keep an eye out."  
"What are we going to do if we find it?"  
"The ID is expired, but it should still get us into the room. It has his thumbprint recorded on it."  
"But what about Chang and Hernandez?"  
"We'll lag behind. They won't notice if we duck in somewhere if we do it quickly."

KD and Dauphin walked slowly, gaining more distance between themselves and the marines. There was a nameplate beside each door, though some were covered in infestation that they had to peel it away. Some of the doors were encased in infestation. Dauphin realized she didn't know what they would if Vice Admiral Stukov's door was similarly inoperable. KD grabbed Dauphin's hand, startling her.

"Carolyn, look!"  
And there it was; his name was readily visible and the door was free of infestation. Dauphin looked down the hall. Hernandez and Chang were having an animated conversation that she could not now hear. They had not noticed that they were not still behind them. Dauphin pulled the ID card out of a compartment on her suit. Taking one last look at the marines, she held it against the keypad... And nothing happened.  
KD sighed. "I guess it was too..." The mechanism of the lock made an audible click and the door slid noiselessly open. The two of them ducked inside and the door closed behind them.

"Quick! Find something we can take!" KD said, darting past Dauphin. Dauphin surveyed the room. His quarters were quite large, befitting a man of the Vice Admiral's station—more like an apartment than the cramped quarters Dauphin and KD shared with two other women on the _Kuznetsov_. There was a living room with a bar that appeared fully stocked. There were several large windows in the room, but they were shattered and covered with a thin, clear layer of infestation. To the left was a door, presumably to a bedroom. Other than the bar, there was nothing fancy about the room. There was a couch and a chair—both in black leather. A non-descript end table sat next to the couch, and in the corner was a large desk with a computer console set into it. The most elaborate piece of furniture was the high, wingback chair that sat behind it. KD was already rifling through the desk. She opened the small humidor beside the computer but quickly closed it. She opened all the drawers.

"Anything?"  
"I found a photograph," she said, holding up a small, dark picture.  
"Who's in it?"  
"Kids. Four of them."  
KD showed it to Dauphin. The four children were lined up on a hearth dressed in fancy holiday clothing. Christmas maybe? Nobody celebrates like that anymore... The oldest was a tiny, dark-haired girl holding the youngest, a fair-haired infant, in her lap. She was the only one looking at the camera. The two other boys, both toddlers and maybe twins, were sitting on the other side of the hearth. They looked like they had been fighting and were on the verge of tears—it was a typical family portrait. She gave it back to KD.  
"Leave it. He's not in it."

Dauphin wandered into the bedroom. It was then she was struck by how clean—not just of infestation, but of dust or other detritus that would normally have settled in an unused room—the bedroom was. The bed was made and looked undisturbed, but there was something hanging in the air that seeped through her helmet's ventilator. Is that cologne? Maybe hot soap? She walked into the bathroom. It was again cleaner than she would have expected but worn. The white tiles that covered the room from floor to ceiling had fallen off in some places, but it looked like it was being maintained. Then she noticed there was condensation on the sink. The air was even humid, like someone had recently showered. She opened the shower door. The inside of the door was wet. The hair on her neck stood up.  
 _There's no fucking way someone is living here, right?_

"Jackpot!" KD said over the comm. Dauphin walked back into the bedroom. KD had tossed a long, thin box onto the bed, but was still digging in the closet. Dauphin walked over and inspected it. The box had Stukov's name and rank engraved on a metal plate set in the lid. Unlatching the lid and opening it, she found an officer's ceremonial sabre and an ornate revolver inside. Both of them looked as if they had not been taken out of the box very often.

"And look at this shit." KD threw a haphazardly folded jacket onto the bed and then a hat. A faint whiff of cigar smoke drifted through her air filter as the hat hit the bed. She had never seen a high-ranking officer's dress uniform up close before. Both the hat and jacket were trimmed and lined in red with elaborate gold-stitched scrollwork and piping. The hat had a red band just above the brim under the insignia. The breast of the uniform was covered in medals, which struck Dauphin as odd. Most officers would keep their medals in a box somewhere for safe keeping, but it appeared Stukov wasn't one to care about medals—or ceremonial garb. But his name was on a tag on the jacket and his initials were on the inside of the hat; this was something that Greg would definitely want. KD pulled out the pants that had a matching red stripe down the side and some dress boots that needed to be shined. She also dug out a duffel bag and began carefully placing it all inside. As Dauphin watched, she imagined the man who must have owned all this regalia standing in it, his four children around him, the infant in his arms. Now all that was left of him were a few pieces of clothing and some trinkets. It made her sick to her stomach.

 _What a fucking waste_.

Thinking better of it, she went to the desk and retrieved the photograph, tucking it in the bag as KD tried to figure out how to get everything inside it.

"Dauphin! KD!" Chang suddenly cut in, "Where are you?" The marine had switched to all frequencies in an attempt to find them. She changed her frequency back to the standard one.  
"Uh, right here?" KD and Dauphin threw everything else into the bag and hastily exited Stukov's quarters. Hernandez rounded on them, startled.  
"Jesus, are you okay?"  
"We're fine. We saw a door open and walked in," Dauphin said evenly.  
"Are you crazy? You had no idea what could have been..." Chang saw the duffel in KD's hand. "What's all that?"  
"Nothing. Just... stuff..." She put it behind her. Hernandez snatched it away and opened it.  
"Why you got all this dead guy's crap?"  
"We know a... collector. He was going to give us some money for it," Dauphin said. KD gave her a look that meant "shut up."  
"And you weren't gonna cut us in?"  
"I just thought you'd rather have the booze in the bar in there," KD said quickly.

Hernandez dropped the duffel. "Booze? What?" He walked into Stukov's quarters and Chang followed. Dauphin had always admired KD's ability to read people. She was a hot mess otherwise, but it was definitely a strength that Dauphin lacked. They could hear Hernandez and Chang arguing over who was going to take what and the clinking of glass. Hernandez and Chang both came out of Stukov's quarters with armfuls of bottles. KD opened the bag and they carefully put them inside. The bag was heavy now, and Hernandez took it from her.

"All right, back to the mission," Chang said, "Let's go."


	5. Chapter 5: Treachery

Finally, Stukov heard the lift to the bridge come to life. He had been aware of them the moment they were in range of his limited telepathic abilities. He had opened and shut the hangar door for them and made sure the elevators were working. They had taken their time, and he didn't know why—he could sense them at a distance but not hear their thoughts. He attributed their slow movement to fear.

 _Good. Let them be afraid._

Stukov reached out to the infestation around him. Black tendrils snaked down from the ceiling and wrapped around his torso and arms. They then hoisted him up and out of sight. He mimicked the posture Izsha took on Kerrigan's leviathan. He would wait for them, let them talk, read them and learn what they knew of the Directorate's mission. He would then decide whether to reveal himself to them—or not. The infestation closed around him as the door to the lift opened. A group of four, two men—marines—and two women, probably, he reasoned, the shuttle flight crew. Their voices were muffled by their helmets, but he could still hear and read them because of his enhanced hearing and weak telepathy.

"Why Admiral Stukov though? Why not DuGalle or something?" One of the marines said.

"He didn't tell us."

"I don't know anything about the guy, but that dude definitely had a drinking problem. No one keeps that much alcohol around that isn't an alcoholic."

"He was apparently a high-functioning one."

"He had five kinds of vodka. No one can function drinking that much vodka."

"Well, he ain't functioning at all anymore, so he ain't gonna miss 'em"

 _Crass,_ Stukov thought. He wondered why were they talking about him and why they had they been in his quarters. One of them had a bag he recognized from his closet. The call of the zerg surged in his mind. Kerrigan's leviathan was close. He stopped listening and started reading them as one of the marines began extracting data from a computer terminal with a data tap device. One marine was still thinking about what he had stolen from his quarters. The other knew much more. There would be an attack on Tarsonis. They hoped to take over the Dominion—or the Republic as they called it now, _but of course they don't know that,_ he thought—and then eradicate the zerg. But they were wading into a situation that they did not understand. There was a relatively stable peace between the human factions in the sector, the zerg, and the protoss. If Tarsonis was attacked, the human factions would rally, and Artanis would no doubt come to the aid of his terran allies. The zerg, under Zagara, would remain neutral unless provoked, but might also be persuaded to fight against them. It would be a war on three fronts and bloody. They had a much larger force than then he and DuGalle had with the _Expeditionary Fleet_ , but that would not matter. All three races were licking their wounds from the war-torn last decade, but if they banded together—and they would band together—they would most likely repel them. And if they didn't, all sides would sustain heavy losses. He would not speak to them. _I'll leave them to their folly._ This time would be different. The zerg were not led by a vengeful Kerrigan, and while Zagara was ruthless, she only cared about her Swarm. She would have reason to defeat the fleet but not destroy it utterly as Kerrigan had. If they did not win, they would have the opportunity to surrender; he hoped they would take it.

He scanned one of the women and found nothing interesting. _But this one..._ He saw images mostly. An old ID card with his picture. _That's how they got in my quarters_. His dress uniform with his name on it. _Strange._ He didn't care about any of the items they took. The alcohol was useless to him and so was the dress uniform. But then, a young man, a ghost, he recognized. A dread settled into his stomach—something he hadn't felt in a long time. But he wasn't sure—his mind was not the same. Still, if it was who he thought it was, he had to do something.

Silently he drove the infestation away and lowered himself from the ceiling behind the girl whose mind he had just read. She must have seen him in her peripheral vision, because she turned towards him slowly and then screamed in terror, dropping to her knees. Both the marines turned to face him, raising their weapons. He raised his hands in response.

"Come now, gentlemen, there's no need for violence."

They opened fire. Stukov's arm swiped out at one, knocking him over. He disappeared into the infestation on the deck. The other he pinned to the wall and let the infestation creep over him. He turned his attention back to the two women. One of the women shot him in the back with her handgun, but it glanced off his infested shoulder blade. It hurt but healed almost immediately. He pinned her to the wall as well. The other girl was still on the floor screaming.

"I am Vice Admiral Alexei..." He began, but the girl would not stop yelling. "Stop that. I'm not going to hurt you," he said gruffly. He stared at her for a moment, and slowly some of the fear in her face left. "Are you done now?" He said sarcastically. But then he felt a twinge of sympathy. She was just a kid; she had never encountered the zerg before, and she had just come in contact with what appeared to be the twisted, bloated, reanimated corpse of a UED officer—and she probably thought she would share his fate. He would have to treat them with more humanity than he had needed to muster in a long time.

"It's okay. Really. Let me start over. I'm Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov," he said, gentler this time, stooping down to her level.

"You're supposed to be _dead!_ " Dauphin said fearfully.

"That information is sadly outdated."

"You've been living here all this time?"

"No, it's more complicated than that. But it doesn't matter. Who are you?" He straightened again and offered her a hand to help her up. It took a moment for her to take it and to answer.

"I'm Captain Carolyn Dauphin... The girl that shot you was my navigator, Lieutenant Katie Dean... Those two men are Sargent Joseph Chang and Corporal Joaquin Hernandez..."

"And who is the commander of the fleet?"

"Admiral Troy Reeves."

Stukov swore quietly. He knew him. Stukov didn't outright dislike many people, but he'd never had time for Reeves's mixture of pomposity, genteel bullshit, and incompetence. This would make what he needed to do even harder.

"I must go to him. Give me your fleet's coordinates."

"I'm not doing tha—" He read her mind.

"Thank you."

He willed the _Aleksander_ to move. Dauphin's face went white as the engines began to spin up; she was clearly frightened by his psionic ability. _She would be even more frightened by the leviathan I'm sending to meet us there._ His ability to read them faded as they reached FTL speeds.

"They'll shoot you down," Dauphin said, her voice quivering.

"Do they value your lives so little?"

The _Aleksander_ dropped out of FTL. Stukov opened a comm line and sent his credentials. There was no answer. Stukov turned back to Dauphin. "Which carrier is Reeves on? Do they have a special frequency?"

She hesitated.

"If they don't hear from us, you're correct, they will shoot us down."

"He's on the _Kuznetsov._ That's where we were all stationed." She showed him the frequency.

"UED carrier _Kuznetsov,_ this is Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov. I will rebroadcast my credentials. I request to speak with Admiral Troy Reeves."

"Vice Admiral Stukov, this is _Kuznetsov_ tower. We're patching you through." There was a moment of dead air. Then, the _Aleksander's_ bridge viewscreen came on. On it was the sanguine face of Admiral Troy Reeves. To Stukov, his mutton chops and elaborate grey beard made him look like something out of an American Civil War film. _And like an idiot._ He spoke to him without looking away from his control panel.

"Stukov? You had better have a good damn reason to be still alive." Reeves finally looked at him and the color drained from his face. "Lord have mercy, what have you done? You're..."

"Infested. That is the word you are looking for."

A queer smile played at Reeves's lips. He seemed to be enjoying Stukov's suffering. _What a smug asshole._

"Even so, Admiral," Reeves said, letting his antebellum drawl lengthen his words, "you've got a lot of nerve coming crawling back to the fleet."

"And you have some nerve coming back to this sector after what happened to our expedition."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Not yet I'm not, Troy."

Reeves bristled. He was one of those people who wanted to be called by their title no matter the situation and Stukov knew it.

"If you're zerg now, you're a traitor. I'll shoot you down myself. Tactical!"

"Captain Dauphin... Will you come here for a moment and tell your superior a little about yourself?"

He heard Dauphin swallow hard as she stepped into view of his comm's pickup.

"Hello, Admiral. I'm Captain Carolyn Dauphin. I'm a shuttle pilot based on the _Kuznetsov_ , and I was assigned to the _Aleksander_ salvage mission."

"You've taken hostages."

"I prefer to think of them as my guests."

Reeves's face flushed with anger. "How are you being treated? Where is your navigator and your marine detachment?"

"I'm fine... But everyone else..."

"They're being restrained, and they are unharmed... for now."

"What do you want, Stukov?"

"To talk."

"About what?"

"About the mistakes you are about to make. I will not help you, but I can steer you towards allies and tell you how to minimize casualties, though I hope after speaking with me you may change your mind and return to Earth."

"Do you think me a coward?"

"No, but I hope you're not the fool I always thought you were. I will board the carrier _Kuznetsov_ in one hour and will return your people to you. We will talk then. Be ready."

Stukov cut the comm line. He turned to Dauphin. "Thank you for being cooperative."

"What else could I have done?"

"You could have screamed. You could have goaded him to fire."

"I _could_ have... But I don't have a death wish. I just work here."

"Hah! With that attitude, you may just survive..." He looked away for a moment, trying to figure out what he should do next. It would be unwise to tell them who he thought their "collector" was—it could be used against him. But he needed to get a message to him to tell him he was alive, or at least not dead, instruct him to leave the fleet whenever there was an opportunity, and, of course, that he would help him. It was a possibility that this person was not who he thought he was, but there were too many coincidences. The image he saw in Dauphin's mind, the ID card that only could have been retrieved from his home on Earth, and wanting to find some token of him from the _Aleksander_. If it was him, it was wise to have not told them his name. The less obvious ties he had to him would keep him out of harm's way—for now. "My ID card... May I see it?"

"What?"

"My ID card. You have it."

"Oh! How did you?"

He made a motion with his hand for her to give it up. Dauphin rummaged around in the bag and gave him the card. He examined it. Inside, there was a wireless chip. He placed it on the console. It was old, but so was the ship. He was able to access the card through the ship's computer. The storage was full, but if he deleted his thumbprint and his credentials, he could type several novels worth of text to him; Stukov only needed a short message. Finished, he gave the card back to Dauphin. "When you see him, give him this." She turned it over in her hand and put it in her pocket.

"What's in it for me?"

"I won't kill you? And you can keep all that..." he said, gesturing to the bag, "I don't care about any of it."

"Who is he?"

"I'm... not sure."

"You just don't want to tell me." He ignored her.

"I think it's about time we got ready to leave, yes?" Stukov let KD out of the infestation in the corner. She fell from the wall, coughing. Dauphin ran to her.

"God... I had my _mouth_ open..."

"Are you okay?"

"I think that's the most disgusting thing that's ever happened to me." Stukov watched them interact. _How old are they?_ he thought, _Twenty-five_ maybe _? Children—all of them_. _Younger than my own would be now..._ _Sent out here for what reason? Conquest? To protect Earth?_ When he left Earth, his children were young. _Would I even recognize them now? Would they recognize me?_

KD noticed Stukov watching them.

"Hey, what are _you_ staring at?" she snapped. Dauphin shushed her.

"Do you want to provoke him? Really?"

"I'm sorry about restraining you. But you shot at me and didn't leave me much of a choice."

He was angry at none of them—not even the marines. They reminded him of the men and women under him on the _Aleksander_. His mind was different now, but he remembered their names if not their faces. He always had an unwise sentimentality towards his young recruits, tending to act paternally towards them. Many responded to it, some didn't. Either way, he tried to be a fatherly figure—if not a crazy, Slavic uncle.

 _Gerard on the other hand..._ Stukov had men and women that were loyal to him over DuGalle. He was neither a taskmaster nor a micromanager, of which DuGalle had a tendency to be both—even with him. He could only imagine what Reeves was like. It infuriated him to know his death—and DuGalle's-had most likely precipitated Reeves's promotion.

Stukov looked at the time on the console. They needed to start moving towards the hangar bay. With a thought, the infestation pulled the two marines further into the wall.

"What are you _doing_?" KD exclaimed, "He's killing them!"

"No, I'm not. They're uncooperative. I can't trust them to walk to the hangar bay on their own power. They're going there _my_ way. Now, unless you'd like to join them..." Stukov gestured to the lift as the door chimed and opened. Both women were quiet as he ushered them in and escorted them down to the hangar bay. When they got there, the two men were in chrysalises in the hangar. Stukov and Dauphin loaded them onto the shuttle, and Stukov commanded KD sternly to stay in the back with them. He took the pilot's seat without protest from Dauphin. When he looked back, KD had gotten into the duffel bag and had fished out a bottle of schnapps. He had no idea where it had come from. _It must have been Gerard's_. _At least it will keep her quiet_.

Once at the controls, he found little had changed in their design since he had been gone. He opened the hangar bay door and maneuvered the shuttle out. The UED fleet spread out before him, shining ships stretching as far as he could see. He counted at least four carriers—floating bases, larger than protoss capital ships but smaller than a city—and hundreds of battlecruisers flanked by smaller vessels, some of makes Stukov didn't recognize. With the fleet in front of him, Stukov couldn't help feeling pride and nostalgia.

"That's... Quite impressive," Stukov said quietly.

"Do you still think we can't win?"

"Yes."

Stukov radioed the _Kuznetsov's_ tower, warning them of his approach and that he had his "hostages" on board in case they got the idea to shoot him down. The tower directed him to a hangar. As he touched down, a group of six marines and a med team filed in to meet the shuttle. _Good. They've underestimated me_. _I might make it out of here alive._ He stood, reaching into one of the chrysalises with his infested arm, withdrawing Chang's rifle. KD staggered away from him, at once both tipsy and afraid. Stukov didn't need the gun, but he wanted to look like he did.

"Carolyn," he said calmly, "I'm going to do something that you're not going to like." Dauphin's head snapped towards him, her eyes wide. "I'm going to lead you out at gunpoint. Know that I have no intention of shooting you. It's just for show."

"O-okay."

Stukov opened the shuttle hatch. "Come. You first." He let Dauphin walk in front of him. "Stay back!" he yelled at the marines in the hangar. "I have a hostage. If you try anything, I _will_ kill her. The rest of your people are onboard the shuttle. Take me to Reeves. The sooner I see him, the sooner I will leave you." As soon as he had cleared the shuttle, the med team swooped through the hatch to help Chang, KD, and Hernandez. The marines formed a pack around Stukov and escorted him down the hallway. After walking for a few minutes, they came to a conference room. Inside, Reeves stood from his chair at the conference table, red-faced and already apoplectic. Behind him was a ceiling-to-floor window looking onto the fleet, the view perhaps chosen, Stukov thought, to intimidate him.

"I don't know what is going on in that diseased brain of yours, but you've got five minutes to submit to my command or I will..."

"Hello, Troy. Good to see you as well." He pulled out a chair for Dauphin, his gun still trained on her. He then pulled one out for himself and sat down, making a show of getting himself comfortable, even flipping his hat off onto the table.

"Whatever it is you want, Stukov, you're not getting it."

"You should hope I do. I want you and your people to live; I want you to turn around and go home."

"Do you doubt the strength of the UED _Destroyer Fleet_?"

"I doubt it as much as I should have doubted the _Expeditionary Fleet_. You're not here with a clear picture of the dangers of this sector. You need to come to this with," he stopped, realizing he was echoing the past, "... your eyes open. Otherwise..." he gestured with his free hand at himself, "This is your future. All that is here is death."

"Ridiculous. We have almost the entire Earth sector military at our disposal. We will conquer the colonies and subdue the protoss—and the zerg."

"Is that so? Perhaps you need a little dose of reality." Stukov reached out with his mind to his leviathan. A specially bred brood queen departed from it to the fleet. He selected a battlecruiser far from the _Kuznetsov_ but close enough to view from the conference room's window. In seconds, the _Kusnetsov_ 's alarm klaxons began ringing. Reeves stood and went to a control panel on the wall.

"Bridge, status report."

"We're under attack—from the zerg. And it's... spreading?"

"What?"

There was a bright flash outside the window. Reeves turned, watching in horror as the infested ship's main engine blew. A neighboring battlecruiser had fired upon it to immobilize it, but it was too late. Tendrils of infestation had latched onto the second battlecruiser. It tried to pull away but could not and began to break up. This was not what Stukov wanted. He willed the infestation to keep it together. Another tendril snaked out and penetrated a supply freighter nearby. Broodlings swarmed on its hull as the contagion spread and took hold. Reeves looked on, horrified, as more ships were caught up in Stukov's virulent pestilence.

"This is the reality of the zerg. There is very little to be done in defense. They are a single-minded enemy, wanting only to survive and conquer. I have immense power, but even I'm not powerful enough to rule them."

"You... you did this? Stop it, Stukov! Stop it right now!"

It didn't bother him that Reeves was scared. He should have been. It was only when Dauphin looked at him, frightened and betrayed, that the coldness of the Swarm in him abated. Stukov felt conflicted. He should not have put that many lives at risk to make a point. The infestation withdrew at his command, but he kept the most damaged ship from breaking up.

"The effects are temporary. If you have any firebats, send them in. They should be able to remove any lingering infestation."

The alarms stopped abruptly. "Status," Reeves barked into the communication console.

"The zerg have retreated. Casualty reports coming in... injuries reported but no deaths. Medical is putting the exposed into quarantine."

"Five ships in thirty seconds... I could have decimated your fleet today, and there are billions more zerg than those I control. Do you like those odds?"

"Then fight _with_ us."

"No. But I will help you under these conditions: you keep the _Kuznetsov_ off the front lines and you don't use your ghosts."

"Why these conditions?"

"Ghosts are useless against the zerg," he lied, "and you will need some way to rebuild your fleet if your 'war' goes as badly as I know it will. If you keep to these conditions, I will introduce you to the factions in this sector which may help you—the Tal'darim, for instance—and speak to the leaders of the zerg on your behalf."

"That's all? We attack Tarsonis in six hours. You can't be more help than that?"

Stukov shrugged. "If you want me to look over your battle plans, I'll send you my recommendations. But that's all I will do."

"Stukov," Reeves said, his voice lowering as he leaned in conspiratorially, "we're not doing this just because we can. You know what the situation was when you left—now it's only worse. Our colonies are failing because of our wars with them. The population of Earth is too large for its resources... Inhabitable planets are a dime a dozen here... We need the Koprulu sector and its worlds to survive."

"Then send colony ships and settle! _No one_ will stop you. There's no need to resort to conquest."

Anger seethed in Reeves's face as he realized that Stukov was steadfast in his conviction to not assist him fully.

"I always thought you were lazy... uncouth... hiding in your lab swilling vodka with your dick in your hand after your wife left you... And that's all you're doing now." Stukov laughed, surprised at how easily his mask of gentility slipped. He also now realized the depth of Reeves's apparent loathing of him. Had he done something to him back in the academy? Had he slighted him in some way? If he did, he didn't remember and hadn't been trying. He disliked Reeves but rarely had even thought about him, and yet Reeves remembered his post, that he'd been having problems with alcohol, and somehow knew his wife had left him. Stukov vaguely recalled that Reeves was married and that his husband was a musician of some sort. They had few friends in common, and there was no reason for Reeves to know that much about him. Stukov thought that he definitely had some sort of complex.

"I'm touched you remember so much about me, Troy. Do you know my children's names as well? The brand of cologne I wear? Or is that too esoteric? If we're done, I'm leaving. The Captain here will take me back to my ship, and then I'll be on my way."

"Are you all right with that, Captain Dauphin?"

"I'm... I'm fine," Dauphin mumbled. Putting on his cap, Stukov got up and escorted Dauphin to the door. As he left, Reeves gave him an odd look. Instead of following them out, he walked to the comm station and began speaking quietly into it. Stukov and Dauphin stepped out into the hallway. The same marines followed them through the ship, but, curiously, took them a different way.

"Where are they taking us, Carolyn?"

"The hangar bay. This just takes us to the other end."

"They're wasting time." Stukov knew something was up.

Stukov and Dauphin entered the hangar bay from the far side, away from the shuttle. As they made their way to it, Reeves entered from the other side, leading a tall, thin man in handcuffs. When they got closer, he threw him to his knees and pointed a handgun to his head. The man looked up at them, wide eyed.

"Greg?" Dauphin exclaimed.

"Gregory..." Stukov said, anguished. Gregory turned to him, recognizing his voice. He squinted at him, confused.

"Papa?"

"This reunion is touching, but it will be fleeting..." Reeves said, his face beaming with satisfaction. "'Don't use any ghosts,' you said. Of course I looked at the roster, and, for the record, yes, I do remember your children's names." A white-hot anger burned in Stukov. His hand tightened on his rifle as he wondered if he could get a shot off without Reeves killing his son. Or if he could lash out and strike him. "You have four children, correct? This is your youngest? If you don't submit to my authority and join the attack on Tarsonis right now, I'm blowing your son's brains out right here. Then, I'm sending a message home declaring you a traitor, and suggesting they round up the rest of your children and kill them as well. It's a pity your ex-wife isn't around anymore; I'd have her killed too."

"She's... dead?"

"Hah! You didn't know? Well, that makes this all the more fun, doesn't it?" He cocked the pistol and Greg flinched.

"You can't threaten him! He's one of your own men!" Dauphin blurted out.

"Keep quiet, girl. I'll do as I wish," Reeves said, his anger rising. He pushed the gun against Greg's temple.

Stukov was stunned. He had no idea that his ex-wife had died. When did it happen? How? And now he'd put his entire family in danger. He should never have come here. But it was too late, and now he had no choice.

"Stop," Stukov said, putting his gun on the ground, "I submit. Just... don't shoot him." Reeves motioned to one of the marines.

"Take him to the brig," he said, indicating Greg, "He'll be safe there... For now. As for you, Admiral."

"Vice admiral. I guess you don't remember _everything_."

"Oh, but I do. I watched the vids of your funeral—with pleasure, I might add. Afterwards, they made a big show of awarding you a tombstone promotion. Better late than never, I suppose. So, _Admiral_ Stukov, you will gather your forces and meet us at Tarsonis in five hours. You will continue from there with the fleet and assist us in subjugating the Koprulu sector. If you are insubordinate, late, cowardly, or just _fucking annoy_ me, your son will die. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes... sir."

"Then _get out of my sight_."

* * *

 **Note** : I know that's not how tombstone promotions work, but, hey, it's the future and a fascist regime. Also, I made Stukov divorced/ a widower because his obit doesn't mention a wife. So, either he had four kids with different people, or he was divorced/ a widower. I don't really like the first one, and it doesn't jive with his character, though knowing Blizzard it may have been what they jokingly intended at the time.


	6. Chapter 6: The Chase

**NOVA LISBOA, UMOJA 16:42 UCST (10:42 DCST)**

On stage, Figaro had just learned the count's plan for his wife Susanna and was beginning the first lines of "Se Voul Ballare." It was the first act of _Il Nozze_ _de Figaro_ and the first production of it at the Pasteur Opera House since the End War. Admiral Renata Marín was pleased to be there, having begged box-seat tickets off her commanding officer, Fleet Admiral Thierry Augustin, a donor. Her partner, Lieutenant General Wynand Vermaak, was less than enthusiastic and already nodding off to sleep. She should have known better than to bring him here; Marín knew he wouldn't enjoy it. It had been enough of a battle to get him into a suit, and he still chose to wear his motorcycle boots with it. She had to admit that she was more comfortable in the grey and teal of the Umojan Protectorate Navy's uniforms than in a black formal dress and heels, but she prided herself on her ability to adapt—and she had fallen in love with opera in the academy. She and Vermaak had known each other since then, and she had changed a lot over the years. But he had not. He was still the same steady, dependable, if slightly incorrigible Wynand. His cleanly-shaven head bobbed again, and then he was asleep, snoring quietly. _Thank god this is a private box_ , she thought.

An usher appeared at the door, asked her for her name, and then handed her a datapad. She looked at him quizzically, but he just shrugged. Taking it in her hand, she stood and moved to the corner of the box so that the other opera patrons would not be bothered by the bright screen. On it was a message to her: "LARGE SCALE ATTACK ON TARSONIS IMMINENT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ADM. MARÍN AND LT. GEN. VERMAAK OF _CORE FLEET_ RENDEZVOUS IMMEDIATELY WITH FLEET ADM. AUGUSTIN OF _EDGE FLEET_ AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS." For a few seconds, Marín stood there, stunned. She refreshed the datapad, making sure she hadn't misread it or that it was a mistake. She walked to Vermaak and shook him awake. Vermaak turned to her sleepily.

"Oh, was I sleeping?"

"Get up."

"Don't be angry... You know I don't like this. I'm not bothering anyone. We don't have to..."

"No, Wynand. We have to _go_." She pressed the datapad into his ruddy, calloused hands. He read it dazedly, his grey eyes hardening as he comprehended what it said. Without a word, both of them exited into the atrium of the opera house. Through the atrium's three-story tall windows, Marín watched as a shuttle landed in the abstract sculpture garden outside. The scream of its engines reverberated through the atrium and into the concert hall. Men and women in formal wear began trickling out of the hall, concern registering on their faces as they checked their own electronic devices. Marín picked up her skirt and sprinted down the stairs as the shuttle touched down, her heels loudly clicking on the marble floor. Vermaak was close behind her. It was one of the _UPN Uhuru's_ shuttles. _That's our ride_.

The glass doors moved aside for them as they exited the garden. They both stood next to the shuttle as it hovered close to the ground, blasting air at both of them. Marín was glad she already had a hold on her skirt, but couldn't control her long, black hair. Vermaak looked nonplussed. _Now there's an advantage of_ _being bald._ The shuttle door opened, and the navigator yelled at her over the din.

"This shuttle is just for you, Admiral. There's another shuttle from the _Liberté_ circling to pick up Vermaak. Gen. Oyaleni wants to speak with him before the rendezvous."

Marín turned to Vermaak and lightly touched his arm, mouthing a kiss to him. He smiled faintly and nodded to her. She boarded the shuttle and strapped herself in as the hatch closed. It would be a dangerous mission—possibly the start of a war. But she felt herself strangely relieved to be alone and away from Vermaak. _Maybe we've been spending too much time together_.

"We're ten minutes out, ma'am," the pilot said as she settled into a seat in the back.

"Good, because if what my orders said are true, we need to be at the rendezvous _now_." Wasting no time, the pilot took off; in minutes they were already climbing high above the city.

"Do you know who is attacking?" Marín yelled over the sound of the shuttle's takeoff thrusters.

"No, Admiral. I can turn on the news if you like," the navigator said.

"Whatever they say is probably wrong at this point... I'll wait."

"Yes, ma'am."

Marín watched through the forward viewport as Umoja's horizon curved then disappeared, replaced by the blackness of space. The shuttle turned sharply upwards and to its starboard. The _Uhuru_ gleamed in the distance, parked above Umoja's planetary defense platform. The shuttle's main engines spun up, and it lurched towards the _Uhuru_. As the _Uhuru_ grew larger, her thoughts turned to who could be attacking Tarsonis. The zerg were the most likely culprit, but Zagara had professed peace, so an attack would be out of character. _Is_ _it the Kel-Morians_ _making a play for the Terran Republic's territory while it's vulnerable?_ Nothing quite made sense _._

The _Uhuru's_ starboard hangar yawned before the shuttle as it glided inside and set down. Her XO, Commander Anders Ahlberg, was waiting for her as she stepped off the shuttle. Marín removed her heels as she walked across the flight deck. They were just going to slow her down. Ahlberg matched her stride and handed her a datapad.

"Is this the briefing, Ahlberg?"

"Yes, Admiral,"

"Can you give me the highlights?" Marín said, impatiently thumbing through it.

"Oh, you're not going to believe this. Earth is back."

"What? Earth?"

"A UED fleet dropped out of FTL above Tarsonis... They ordered their surrender, and of course they didn't take that well..."

"I'd imagine not..."

"And so they've started an invasion. They've sicced the zerg on them—and the infested."

"Infested? How?"

"Vice Admiral Stukov? Ring any bells? UED guy... He's been hiding out here since their first invasion. Never heard of him, but they've got a dossier on him in there. Hadn't had a chance to look at it."

"All right. Thanks... I'm going to the bridge, but I need you here. I want all of our banshees, liberators, dropships—everything—ready by the rendezvous. Tell the bridge I'm on the way up."

"Yes, ma'am!" Ahlberg turned on his heel and jogged back inside the hangar. It would be quite a job for him and take time. Marín commanded fifty ships in the core-side fleet which protected the Umojan Protectorate's territory towards the galactic core. There were twice as many marine detachments. She hoped that Vermaak had radioed ahead to them. Marín continued towards the door. As it door opened, her chief engineer, Dani Jansa, stepped through. As usual, her coveralls and elaborate blonde braids were coated in grime.

"Lookin' good, Admiral," she said playfully.

"And you look like you got dragged behind a dropship."

"That's pretty much what happened!" Both of them continued on, their jobs elsewhere. Hopefully they could sit down to a drink at some point, as they both kept swearing they were going to do. Camaraderie among her crew was important, but she had been setting a bad example as of late. It was something she needed to amend. _But that's not happening soon._ As the lift rose towards the bridge, Marín read through the reports. Most of it seemed like standard UED tactics if on an immense scale. But the infested attack was worrisome. She thumbed through to the dossier on Stukov as the door opened onto the bridge.

"Admiral on the bridge," Lieutenant Commander Achille Barre said as she exited the lift. She waved her hand at him, dismissing his formality.

"No time for that, Barre. We're _en route_?"

"Engaging FTL now."

"Good. Barre, put me on speaker—don't do the visual feed though... I'd rather the whole ship not see me in this dress..."

"Feed is live."

"Everyone. As you've heard from news reports, Tarsonis is under attack and this is _not_ a drill. What you haven't heard is that an old threat has returned to the Koprulu sector—the United Earth Directorate. In accordance with our recent treaty with the new Terran Republic, we are obliged to render whatever aid and defense we can. The _Core Fleet_ will be joining the _Edge Fleet_ at the Tyrador system. From there, we will coordinate with Terran Republic forces and receive our orders. I'll keep everyone posted. We've trained for this, people. Let's go keep our sector safe."

Marín motioned Barre to cut the comm. He gave Marín a "so-so" hand gesture. "I'd give that about a five on the pep talk scale. Needs more bullshit."

"If the only criticism is 'needs more bullshit,' I'll take it," Marín said, walking towards her office just off the bridge. "I'm going to finish this briefing. If anyone calls, I'll take it in my office." Barre gave her a thumbs up.

Inside her office, Marín put her shoes under her desk and sat down to finish reading. Terran Republic ghosts on the ground had sent back troubling images and reports. Massive Earth-built carriers supporting space-to-ground aircraft and battlecruisers had overwhelmed the system and locked down Tarsonis. Several command centers had been constructed, cementing their foothold on the planet and cutting Tarsonis City off from aid. _And the zerg_ _are attacking—and the infested._ _What a nightmare._ She continued to read the dossier attached to the briefing. As someone who had fought in the End War and had defended Umojan territory against the UED when they first arrived, she knew his name and remembered watching his funeral when the UED broadcast it via comm buoy. The dossier cited his participation in the End War and listed him as "infested," but that moniker didn't make sense to her. _The infested are mindless zombies. How could any of them be in "control" of the others?_ _And if he participated in the End War with the Dominion, why is he not on our side now? Is he even sentient or rational?_ The damage and casualty reports were horrific. Infestations were destroying buildings. Soldiers were falling only to rise again as the infested to fight for the UED. Most distressingly for Marín, the Umojan fleet was only a fraction of the size of the incoming UED armada. _And the Terran Republic has been caught with its pants down._ They had suffered heavy losses in the End War and against the Queen of Blades; their forces had never been fully rebuilt. Also, Raynor was MIA and Horner was busy trying to hold the new Terran Republic together while also commanding the Republic's military. The new Republic, Marín knew, was not in any state to repel an invasion.

Barre stuck his head into Marín's office. "We're at the rendezvous." Marín gathered her dress and returned to the bridge.

"Hail the _Vrede_." The _Vrede_ responded immediately, the chrubic face of Fleet Admiral Augustin appearing on the screen.

"Renata! Good. Get over here. We have a lot to discuss. Where is the _Liberté_? I need to speak to Oyaleni and Vermaak as well."

"He left just after I did. I'm sure they'll be here soon."

"Okay," he said dubiously, "but this is a horrible time to keep us waiting. We need to proceed with the utmost care and alacrity. See you momentarily. Oh, and... nice dress. Shame about the opera... Ta ta! Augustin out."

"Message the flight deck, Barre. Get me a shuttle ready."

"Don't you want to change?" Marín was already in the elevator.

"No time!"

Marín boarded the shuttle and made her way to the _Vrede_. When she arrived on the bridge, Augustin and Valerian Mengsk were already discussing their plans for repelling the invaders. Marín was somewhat taken aback that Valerian was there—and in all his princely finery. She, like most Umojans, had a distrust of the entire Mengsk clan despite their government's original backing of them. They had been burned by it, and despite Valerian being originally an Umojan citizen, they did not hesitate to effectively end Valerian's reign by releasing further documents about Moebius's experiments. They were relieved that the Mengsk dynasty would not continue. But now he was here. Marín could not help but think that this would end up being a renewed bid for control.

"...And the Republic and Moebius fleets will remain under my command until—or if—Horner rejoins the fleet."

"Where's Admiral Horner?" Marín said, eyeing Valerian. Augustin rounded on her.

"Ah, yes. Admiral Marín, I'm sure you know Valerian Mengsk?"

"Yes... Of course," she said. Valerian extended his hand to her. She took it cautiously.

"Pleasure to meet you, Admiral. I hope you don't mind if I reviewed your personnel file on the way here... Your record is quite impressive."

"Thanks, I don't mind... Afterall, your 'record' is pretty public,'" Augustin coughed to stifle a laugh and Valerian frowned slightly at the comment but regained his composure.

"You look... as if you were interrupted?" Valerian said, eyeing her dress.

"I was at the opera..."

"Ah yes, _Il Nozze_ _de Figaro_ was playing, wasn't it?"

"Yes, yes it was."

"Shame. They perform it so seldom... The Pasteur Opera House has one of the best companies I've had the pleasure to listen to... Though I might be partial to it... My family donated a great deal to the building's construction... There is a focus on culture on Umoja that is not present on Korhal or Tarsonis... We'll have to chat about opera later, if you're a fan."

"Sure... once all this is over, perhaps..." Marín said, unconvincingly. Valerian, to her, had always been a man of contradictions, but that he enjoyed opera puzzled her. Opera normally dealt with epic themes and abstract concepts like freedom and loyalty and what happens when power is abused. It seemed strange to her that he would enjoy it without seemingly internalizing any of its messages.

"Valerian is here because Horner is trapped in Tarsonis City," Augustin said, quickly changing the subject, "For now, he's currently in charge of the Moebius and Republic fleets, but we're working on a plan for Horner's extraction—along with as many civilians as we can evacuate."

"How do we plan to repel them?"

"We don't," Valerian said softly, "We're greatly outmatched. Our position will be defensive. We want to get as many people out and hold the UED off until they escape."

"We're just going to let Tarsonis fall?" Marín said incredulously.

"There's no other choice, Admiral Marín," Valerian said, "But we do have a defensive plan."

"Which we'll discuss when Gen. Oyaleni and Lt. Gen Vermaak finally arrive..." Marín nodded, her eyes drifting towards the holographic war table in the middle of the bridge which depicted the UED's troop movements in real-time three dimensionally above it. She walked to it, and then used her hands to manipulate the display and zoom in on the planet's surface. There, she watched a flurry of red dots—the infested—flooding the streets. But there was something odd about it—something that bothered her.

"His involvement surprises me," Valerian said, walking quietly towards her, his cape flowing behind him. _Who wears a cape?_ Marín thought.

"Whose?"

"Vice Admiral Stukov. Raynor thought highly of him... Or at least had a begrudging respect."

"But he's zerg… a _nd_ UED. Doesn't sound that surprising to me."

"No, I suppose not... His alliance may have only been to Kerrigan. Without her in play, his loyalty may have defaulted to the UED. This is unfortunate... he is resourceful and... hard to predict. His assistance of the UED is already evident... The UED knows more than they should about the landscape of the city—and its weaknesses."

"So wait, I thought he was infested? Aren't the infested mindless zombies? You're talking about him like he's still a man."

"Stukov... is a special case. He's... not going to be easy to push back..."

"Yes," Augustin broke in, "and we've been discussing who would be best suited to do that. Renata, I think that person is you."

"Wherever you think I would best serve," she said absently, still looking at the holographic map.

"That's my girl," Augustin said jovially. "Stukov is attacking the heart of the city, limiting our access to a building where Horner is pinned down. There is an underground bunker and an access tunnel that leads to the nearby police headquarters—and it has a helipad. If you and Vermaak can push Stukov back and deal with the infestation, we should be able to get everyone inside there out. The _Core Fleet_ will be our shield, deflecting attacks from the evac and blocking ships from entering Tarsonis's atmosphere over Tarsonis City."

"My fleets and the _Edge Fleet_ will try to take out as much of the UED fleet as we can before we have to retreat," Valerian said. Marín nodded. It was what she expected, she supposed, but the doomed defense of Tarsonis agitated her. She did not like going into a fight she knew she could not win. All they could do was mitigate the damage. Still, maybe there was something she could do without obeying orders. She studied the map again. _Maybe... if I could neutralize this "Stukov_ " _and take him out as a random element..._ It wasn't what she had been directed to do, but she decided if she had the opportunity to kill or capture him, she would take it.

Vermaak and Oyaleni finally arrived. "So good of you to join us," Augustin said sarcastically. Marín looked at him. He had changed, maybe even showered. Oyaleni looked somewhat pissed off like she had been kept waiting. _So that's what took so long_ , Marín thought. "General Jane Oyaleni, Lieutenant General Vermaak, this is Valerian Mengsk..."

"Mengsk," Oyaleni said, barely acknowledging him.

"I know who he is," Vermaak said curtly.

"Vermaak and Oyaleni will be assisting us in deflecting attention away from the evacuation and defending us on the ground."

"Just tell us who to shoot," Vermaak said.

"Charming," Valerian said with a tight-lipped smile.

"Like I was telling Marín just now, Moebius, the Republic, and the Umojan edge-side fleet will engage the UED. The _Core Fleet_ will protect the evac and Tarsonis City while pushing Stukov's forces back away from Horner's position with Vermaak's marines. Oyaleni will deal with the larger threat of UED forces on the ground... is that clear?"

"Simple enough," Oyaleni said.

"Good. We've wasted enough time. Vermaak, Marín, you're Dismissed. General Oyaleni, may I speak with you further?" Oyaleni, a woman of few words, crossed her broad arms and stood near Augustin, tapping her dark fingers on her sleeves as she eyed Valerian. _No Umojan_ _trusts Valerian_ , Marín thought.

Marín and Vermaak boarded the lift from the bridge to make their way back to the hangar. As soon as the doors closed, Vermaak looked Marín up and down.

"What are you still doing in that dress?" Vermaak said. Marín turned to him, annoyed.

"What are you doing showing up thirty minutes after everyone else?"

"Didn't want to look like a twit in a suit."

"One, Valerian always wears _a cape_. You wouldn't have been the only 'twit' in the room. Two, are you calling me a twit?"

"You look a bit crazy, yeah."

"I look like I _care_ , Wynand."

"Fine," Vermaak said, sighing. "I knew if I showed up dressed like I was, Augustin would put two and two together about us."

"You don't think that he has? It's been three years and we've known each since the academy. And the they didn't bother giving us separate orders because they knew we'd be together."

"It looks unprofessional."

"I know you want succeed Oyaleni..."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't care if you _do_ , Wynand, but I don't know what about our relationship would keep you from it." Except that she did. She had a reputation, and it was not necessarily a good one. Of the two of them, despite his vulture-riding swagger, she was the more controversial. Marín was considered by some to be too eager and maybe a bit too clever for her own good. People talked about her. Some respected her, others didn't; their feelings were either hot or cold. It was not that way for Vermaak. Most people had no opinion or not much of one. He was good at gliding just under the radar and not upsetting anyone. If it was widely known that they were partners, his reputation might be slightly sullied. _But it wouldn't matter_ that _much_.

As the two of them sat down in the shuttle back to _Uhuru_ , their conversation turned to more pressing matters: the coordination of Horner's evac and how to deal with the infested horde.

"The infested... don't have much experience with them," Vermaak said gruffly. He rubbed his hands together slowly, lost in thought.

"No, we don't... occasionally we'd see them, but we'd stay the hell away. Nuke 'n go if we could."

"Can't do that here."

"We can keep them at arm's length though... siege tanks?" Vermaak considered this with his usual careful slowness.

"Yep. Keep the line from getting too close."

"Banshees too. From what I saw, Stukov has sacrificed air for ground speed."

"May not be a choice. Are there any starports nearby?"

"That's a thought. No one to infest. He could build spires, but the city may be too densely packed to raise them.

"Right."

"You know, your usual cautiousness is going to come in very handy right now." Marín knew she had said something wrong when Vermaak's eyes narrowed at her and his brow knitted together.

"My what?" He absently put his hand on his thigh, on the edge of where she knew his bionic prosthesis began under his fatigues.

"I mean in comparison to me... You know how I am. Pushing back slowly—that's the only way. Losing troops to the infested will just feed Stukov's war machine." Vermaak nodded in agreement, his anger diffused momentarily, but then he turned to her again, suspicious.

"You're planning something, aren't you?"

"What? No."

"I can tell... You're going to do something stupid. What is it?"

"It's not _stupid_..."

"Renata..."

Marín sighed. "Stukov needs to be taken out. If I see a chance, I'm going to take it."

"How do you think you're going to find him? How do you think you're going to kill him?"

"I'll... figure that out later. Like I said, _if_ I get the chance."

"Don't get yourself hurt... or killed..."

"I haven't yet..."

"Not all of us have been so lucky..." He rapped on his leg, making a hollow, metallic sound. "This could have been much worse."

"I know, I'm sorry..."

"Sorry? It's not your fault. Just... be careful. Don't do something brash."

"I... I won't."

The shuttle landed softly in the _Uhuru_ 's hangar and the shuttle's door opened. Vermaak stood, taking her by both hands.

"I hope you mean that."

He leaned down and kissed her.

"See you later, eh?"

"Yeah, I'll send Oyaleni my notes. Be careful."

"I always am. That's double for you."

Vermaak disappeared out of the shuttle and into the hangar bay. She could already hear the doppler effect of his booming voice as he marched deeper into the hangar, barking orders to his marines. Marín got up and made her way to the bridge and into her office. At her desk, she drafted her orders but stopped, looking again at Stukov's troop movements one more time. There was something odd about them, something she couldn't put her finger on. She keyed up Republic archive battle footage of Stukov from during the UED invasion. It was the first time she'd had the occasion to use her new access since the treaty. What she saw there did not match what was happening now in the city of Tarsonis. _If anything,_ she thought, processing what she had learned, _Stukov has always been very aggressive, arrogant even, using ntricate strategies meant to confuse his enemies._ But on Tarsonis, she noted, he kept the line and advanced incrementally, attacking only in defense. She had no idea what that meant.

In any case, she had a plan. She would recommend what she and Vermaak discussed to Oyaleni: no ground troops except siege tanks and, she added, firebats. The siege tanks to push back the infested, and the firebats to clear the infestation. They would have to keep from losing their own troops and rely heavily on her for air support. She would assign as many liberators and banshees as she could spare. But, the sheer number of troops Stukov had been able to raise would be hard to churn through. Secretly though, she thought they could rout him—if she could figure out where his command center was. _Over eager... sticking my neck out again,_ she thought. _But we'd all be safer if he was gone_.

She drafted the battle plan on a map and sent it with annotations to her captains and Oyaleni. And now all she had left to do was address the fleet again. She stepped back onto the bridge. "Open a channel, Barre."

"Aye, ma'am." A chime let Marín know she was on air.

"Good evening... or morning depending on where you've come from in the sector... I wish I had better news to tell everyone, but with the zerg and UED fleet attacking Tarsonis now, when it is most vulnerable after years of war, there is no hope that we will 'win' this battle. What we must focus on is protecting the citizens of the Terran Republic in their evacuation from Tarsonis. Aside from that mission is another important one—to help the Terran Republic in its rescue of its current leader, Admiral Matthew Horner. In doing so, we will go up against the zerg and the infested under the command of Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov, an infested human and Directorate military leader. This will necessarily be a mission that we will have to undertake very carefully. Your orders are being sent now. Keep abreast of them and keep your wits about you. We need to do as much damage as we can to the UED fleet while we are here, but stay focused and don't take any unnecessary risks. See you all on the flip side. Good luck."

This was the part that always filled Marín with guilt: giving orders that meant someone was not coming back. Protocol stated that she should not leave the _Uhuru_ and lead from afar, but she found that unconscionable.

"Put me through to Dani, Barre." Barre patched her though.

"Hey Dani, is my wraith ready?

"Ready and waiting, boss lady."

"Be there in five."

When Marín reached the hangar, the deck shook beneath her feet. Banshees, liberators, and medivac shuttles were all waiting to launch, their engines on, roaring with noise and shimmering with heat. A warning klaxon sounded as the hangar launch port shield snapped on and the hangar's immense door began to open. Her wraith was waiting for her on the only wraith launch rack still in use on the _Uhuru_. Unlike the other vessels, the wraith, unable to stand on its own, had to be catapulted out of the hangar on a jet-powered rack. Marín pulled herself into the cockpit, lowered the cockpit canopy and put on her helmet and breathing apparatus. The canopy sealed shut, dampening the noise of the hangar, but she could still feel the vibrations of the ships on deck through the seat. The hangar bay door was fully open now, and aircraft were launching in groups out into the void of space. She engaged the rack; it lurched the craft forward, putting her in line with everyone else. A few minutes later, it was finally her turn.

"Hit me, chief."

"Aw, yeah."

She felt the jet on the back of the launch rack ignite. The rack sped forward, throwing her wraith out of the hangar. Suddenly, all was quiet as the vacuum enveloped her. Below, she could see the bluish glow of Tarsonis and in the distance the UED fleet. She engaged her cloak, and above her a squadron of banshees did the same. Behind them, the _Uhuru,_ four squadrons of banshees, a squadron of liberators, and what battlecruisers could be spared to attack Stukov, began turning planetside.

"Squadron leader Gavran, this is Marín. I'm here as an extra pair of eyes. Support our firebats and siege tanks. Keep the infested at bay and push them back so our battlecruisers and medivac units can assist with evac."

"Roger, Admiral. Good to know we've got you over our shoulder."

The squadron moved past her and down. She went in the same direction but skimmed the upper atmosphere, keeping the battlefield below her. She wanted to get a peek behind enemy lines. The ground moved swiftly by as the city thinned to suburbs and then to an industrial area.

She called Vermaak to assess his progress.

"Wynand, how's it look?"

"We're pushing back. Progress is slow but looks like we can get a bird in for Horner in about thirty minutes."

"You hear that, Gavran?"

"Yep, we'll be waiting to escort."

She flew quickly over a large train depot and trainyard full of empty boxcars. Something caught her eye. She turned around quickly—and immediately she wished she hadn't. A massive horde of infested sat waiting, stuffed in train cars and obscured by the depot. They were just kilometers from the city. _What is he waiting for?_

Marín hailed Valerian.

"Valerian, this is Marín. We have a window in thirty minutes to get Horner out, but I've got eyes on a phalanx of infested hiding in a train depot outside the city. Radio Vermaak." She didn't want Vermaak to know she was out in her wraith, "I think a massive push is imminent."

"Can we stop it?"

"No, but I don't know why he hasn't attacked yet... He's just... waiting. Does he know Horner's there?"

"I don't know. Possibly."

"Even so, I think he would have flattened the place by now. I'm going fly in and investigate."

"Wait, you're in play?"

"Nice chat, Valerian. I'll see you at the debrief later." She cut the comm, not wanting what would inevitably have been a lecture.

In the distance, Marín spotted a spire. Mutalisks stood by it, obviously on stand-by. An overlord lumbered into view; she gave it a wide berth. Everything was ready, but everything was waiting. _What is he_ doing? It was then she saw it: a battlecruiser—or what was left of one—lurking in low orbit, flying just low enough to confuse the fleet's scanners. The charge on her wraith's cloaking device was almost spent, but she thought she could make it in for a closer look. She burned towards the battlecruiser. Studying it, she could plainly see it was one of the old model Directorate battlecruisers, dark and brutal in its design. _He's in there,_ she thought, _watching_.

Marín's cloak began to break up. She flew higher into space and away from the infested battlecruiser and the UED fleet to seek shelter behind the Umojan line. Around her, a battle between the Directorate fleet and Augustin's forces raged. Marín was in no position to join in the fray. She cut her engines and drifted, taking cover in the debris of the fight and letting her cloak recharge. As she observed the skirmish, the UED fleet appeared so large that it almost blotted out the light of the Tarsonis system's star. Her ship turned, listing in space. Below her, she saw Stukov's battlecruiser begin to move away from the city and behind his line. As her cloak finished recharging, she fired up her engines and reengaged it, steering her ship back down and towards him. She opened her comm and turned the band to a universal frequency.

"To anyone on this frequency, this is Admiral Marín of the Umojan Core Fleet. I've found Stukov. I'm radioing rendezvous coordinates now. Anyone with air-to-air that can break off from the main battle—Republic, Moebius, or Umojan—please converge on those coordinates. We're going to end at least part of this conflict." There was a clamber of replies on the open channel. From what she could tell, around eight liberators—five Umojan, three from the Republic—would be joining her. The Moebius fleet remained slient. _Figures. They must only kowtow to Valerian._ She changed her comm frequency to that of the Republic fleet.

"Is Horner out?"

"Transport just lifted off. He should be back on the _Hyperion_ in five," the _Bucephalus_ 's comm officer said.

"Good to hear."

Below her as she passed the edge of the city, she saw the earth heave beneath her. To her horror, two massive utralisks—larger than any she had seen before and armored—burst from the ground.

"What the _fuck_?" she inadvertently yelled into the comm.

"Ma'am?" The comm officer replied, shaken.

"Ultralisks inbound on the city. Our line..." she cut the comm and whipped her wraith around and flew towards the train depot. The infested were streaming out of it. A flock of mutalisks screamed by her, almost ramming her. She changed back to the universal comm frequency.

"Infested, ultralisks, and air units are mobilizing. All ground troops be on alert! This is the real attack, everyone. Vermaak?"

"We're moving out," Vermaak said hurriedly, forgetting to turn off his comm. In the background, she could hear him screaming orders to his marines in his husky voice.

"Evac isn't finished. What should we do?" Capt. Gavran cut in.

"You've done what you can! Get the hell out of there!"

Marín sped up, gunning towards the rendezvous. Now that she had seen how powerful Stukov could potentially be, it was even more imperative that they put him down. Something still nagged at her. It seemed to her that he had waited until Horner was out and until the bulk of the civilians had been evacuated. His movements made no sense, she reasoned, unless he was consciously trying to avoid civilian casualties and was allowing Horner to escape. _There may have still been some underlying loyalty left, or there may have been unforeseen variables in play._ Despite that, taking him out was still a benefit. To Marín, letting him live was not an option.

The squad of liberators joined her.

"Aw yeah, let's kick that zerg motherfucker right in the cu-." a Republic captain began.

"Uhhh, you realize that Admiral Marín is on this frequency..." one of the Umojan captains said, speaking over him.

"Uh, nope. No, I did not. Sorry ma'am."

"I've heard worse. Let's get to it." The liberators surged forward, swooping in to follow the infested battlecruiser, but Stukov saw them, and the battlecruiser began rising in the atmosphere to leave orbit. _Running back to the fleet_ , Marín thought. One of the liberators came within firing range, but before it could get a bead on him, a tendril snaked out of the battlecruiser and lanced through both of the liberator's engines. The tendril flicked the liberator into space where it cartwheeled away from Tarsonis's gravity well. "Sit tight, Captain. I'm ordering you a medivac. Use your thrusters to stabilize your pitch..." Marín called in a medivac, and the remaining liberators, led by Marín, continued their pursuit of Stukov. "Get in close around him but stay out of range of those... tentacles. Head him off. We can't let him jump to FTL." Suddenly, the battlecruiser fell several thousand feet and _flew right under them_ , burning some of the infestation off of its hull in the process. He rose again and veered away from the UED fleet. "Follow him!" Marín and the liberators gave chase. The liberators, quicker in atmospheric conditions, easily outpaced Stukov, who had still managed put the planet between him and the Directorate fleet. They stopped in front of him, turning to face him. Marín followed behind the battlecruiser, still cloaked but cutting off his escape.

The battlecruiser came to a stop. For a breathless moment, the liberators stared him down. Slowly, the battlecruiser came about to face Marín's cloaked ship. She thought for a moment Stukov would make another run into the atmosphere, but his battlecruiser stayed stationery save for the long zerg tentacles waving beneath it. _What is he doing? Does he..._

"Time to give him what's coming to him... Permission to fire, Admiral?"

"Negative, Capt. Baker."

"What?" one of the Republic liberator captains broke in again, "The dude just pulled his pants down and showed us his ass. Let's lube him up and fuck 'em then put him to bed."

"Vasiliy, goddamn it," one of the other Republic liberator pilots said quietly into the comm. Ignoring them, Marín dropped her cloak and nudged her thruster forward towards Stukov's battlecruiser. A din of shocked exclamations erupted over the comm, telling her not to get any closer.

"He's been able to see me the whole time. Calm down." She changed her comm's band and broadcast a ship-to-ship automated call, introducing herself, her rank, and her command. Moments went by, and she received a message on the same frequency—but text only. The message read, "Urgent meeting requested. Meet in 3 hrs at the coordinates encrypted in this message. Come alone and unarmed." Stukov's ship began moving again, turning towards the liberators. Distortion, caused by the battlecruiser's FTL drive, made the space around it seem to bulge and bend.

"He's firing up his FTL..." Capt. Baker said over the comm.

"Get out of the way. Let him go."

"What?" Vasiliy said incredulously.

"You _heard_ me." The liberators reluctantly moved away from the battlecruiser, and it jumped away to FTL.

Augustin called Marín. "Admiral Marín. I was given word that you had cornered Stukov. Have you been able to neutralize him?"

"No, sir... But I've made contact."

"Contact?"

"I'll explain later. We're done here."

"Then for heaven's sake, get back to the _Uhuru_. We're overwhelmed as it is and we need to fall back."

"Yes, sir."

 _Just what have I gotten myself into..._


	7. Chapter 7: The Easy Part

Unlike previous chapters, this chapter is a transitional chapter from multiple POVs and is more like four mini chapters. The first is from Stukov's POV, the second and fourth from Marín's, and the third from the POV of Dauphin. Thanks for reading!

* * *

Stukov looked out on the UED fleet from the observation deck of the __Aleksander__. If he ignored the infestation around him and the enormity of the Destroyer Fleet, he could almost believe it was 2500 again and he was looking out at his own fleet, just arrived from the Sol sector. In the silence, he imagined Gerard standing behind him somewhere in the shadows. In the distance, he saw the __Kuznetsov__ move to the center of the fleet away from its position behind the front lines. Now that the fight for Tarsonis was over, it could fully rejoin the fleet. He was glad to see it unharmed; with his son onboard, he could reasonably believe he was safe, but he had no idea how he was being treated. He wouldn't know unless he could see him and speak to him, but even then they would be smart enough to hurt him in ways that did not show, saving any permanent injury to him for when his father got out of line. The uncertainty gnawed at him, but he knew they would not be foolish enough to let him die.

The __Aleksander__ 's adjutant chimed discordantly, alerting Stukov it was about to speak.

"Admiral Stukov," it said, its voice slow with the declining health of the ship's systems and muffled by infestation, "Admiral Reeves of the __Kuznetsov__ wishes to speak with you." Stukov hesitated. He felt a moment of paranoia. Had Reeves perceived that he had been holding back? Had someone seen and reported his interactions with the Umojan and Republic vessels and reported it as suspicious? Most likely he just wanted to debrief him, but the memory of Reeves holding a gun to his son's head haunted him.

Stukov climed the few steps to the upper level of the observation deck to its comm console.

"Patch him through, Adjutant."

As the comm clicked on, he was immediately met with sounds of celebration: cheering, clapping, and the popping of champagne corks. Reeves appeared on the screen standing in the hangar bay. Behind him, a huge party was taking place. His self-satisfied smile made him want to wrap his fist around his neck and squeeze until his head popped off. He swallowed his anger.

"Admiral Reeves, how good of you to call," he said flatly.

"Stukov... I have to say congratulations are in order. You managed to totally annihilate the Republic and Umojan forces without causing significant civilian casualties. That will make our occupation of Tarsonis easier... and make for some great PR reels for the sector and back home."

"Propaganda was not my motive, Admiral... but I'm glad to serve the UED again..." He said cautiously.

"Good. Then once we have commandeered Tarsonis's supply chain and industry, we will need to push on—and quickly. When will you meet with... this Tal'Darim... Alarak? Is that his name?"

"Yes, Alarak. I will meet with him in seventy-two hours."

"That's a bit far out, don't you think?"

"It is what he could manage."

"Very well. When you speak to him, let me know. Good day."

"Wait."

"I want to see my son."

"Why?"

"I want to see that he hasn't been harmed."

"You can see him," Reeves said, his genteel demeanor dropping, "when you've convinced Alarak to join the fleet. So don't fuck it up, Stukov." Reeves abruptly closed the comm channel. Stukov pounded his fist on the comm console, seething in frustration. Reeves would use his son to torment him at every opportunity. But he didn't have time to worry about that now. He had to assume his son was alive and well. With his meeting with an Umojan or Republic fleet representative mere hours away, he was on a tight schedule. If his allies in the Koprulu sector did not assist him or if Alarak refused his offer, his son would be in grave danger. __But I will take him back... and if I get the chance, I'll kill Reeves the same way he threatened to kill Gregory.__

But there was no time to indulge his violent fantasy. He had a meeting to attend.

* * *

"You did _what_?" Vermaak shouted. Marín flinched, unused to his anger in front of their superiors. Marín had just finished reporting on her pursuit of Stukov to Horner, Valerian, Augustin, Oyaleni, and Vermaak on the __Vrede__. She told them about his message and why she had ultimately let him go instead of neutralizing him. But she knew that most of it didn't matter to Vermaak—he didn't care that she went after Stukov or why she did, why she let him go, or what he said to her. What mattered to him was that she had put herself in harm's way when she had expressly told him she would not. Augustin sensed that something was wrong and put himself between them.

"I don't believe Admiral Marín needs to repeat herself, Vermaak. Did Stukov give any indication as to why he wanted to meet, Marín?"

"No, but during the battle he seemed to be avoiding attacking evacuees and the building where Horner had been trapped... It may be that he wants to give us intel..."

"Or pull one of our leaders into a trap. He probably thinks Horner or Valerian will come to meet him," Oyaleni said.

"You shouldn't have been there, and __you should have shot him down__ ," Vermaak said angrily.

Marín expected as much from Oyaleni. Being suspicious and considering all the ways a situation could go awry was her job as a general and the leader of the marines in both fleets. But Vermaak's reaction was uncalled for.

Valerian raised his hand in a gesture of calm and began to speak. "I... have to say that I agree with Oyaleni and Vermaak. We fought alongside him once, but... more recent events may have turned him against us."

"Such as?" Augustin said. Valerian did not elaborate, color rising in his cheeks. Horner spoke for him.

"It got buried in the report the Umojans released a few years ago, but Valerian's partially responsible for his imprisonment and the uh... experiments that were... not consensually performed on him by Moebius..."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Marín said, speaking out of turn and rubbing both hands down her tired face. "You tortured this guy? Great. That's just... Yeah, I think that does add something of a complication to our interaction with him."

"But if he's reaching out, there has to be something else going on," Horner walked to the war table in the middle of the bridge. "Do you have recordings of the battle?"

"Yes," Augustin said, joining him. With a few taps he brought them up. A holographic image of Tarsonis appeared above the table with red markers denoting the UED and Stukov and green, yellow, and the teal of the Umojan navy denoting their fleet and troop movements. Horner manipulated the image with a wave of his hand, zooming in on Tarsonis City and the Umojan line against Stukov. Valerian stood behind him as Horner watched Stukov's units crawl through the streets of Tarsonis City. Augustin watched as well from the other side. Valerian pointed at the map, saying something only Horner could hear.

"His movements are... slow," Augustin said.

"That's... uncharacteristic," Horner said. "He's normally quick to strike and with the infested he tends to try to overwhelm his foes quickly in an initial push to hide a more complicated late-battle strategy. Here, he was controlled at first and waited to engage us. I think that Marín is right. He was holding back; he must have known I was in there."

"But how would he have?" Vermaak said.

"Well, he __is__ human. The last time I spoke to him he was pretty up on current events. I was slated to be on a widely broadcast debate. The time and place of broadcast had been announced way ahead of time." Marín imagined the human man she had seen in pictures, sitting in an office like hers. His feet were up on the desk and he popped open a beer as he watched the news projected above the desk. A zergling snoozed idly on the floor below him. She tried not to laugh and realized how tired she had to be to think that was funny. It had been a long day, and now the dress she kept forgetting she was wearing was beginning to rub her in places it had not before.

"You'd think the UED would have caught on to that as well," Augustin said.

"Not necessarily. The timing of their arrival may have kept them from hearing about it."

"Right, so let me get this straight," Oyaleni said, clearly getting annoyed. "what we have here is a dangerous, UED, zerg man who was Kerrigan's ally for a time and your ally for all of five seconds and who might still be friendly to Horner but is definitely going to be right pissed about Valerian and who doesn't give a shit about Umoja but he just asked us to send someone—unarmed—to a horrid backwater planet that can only be traversed in a CMC or vehicle because of its turbulent atmosphere and plasma storms and we're still debating sending someone?"

"If he can do for us what he did to Tarsonis, yeah we are," Marín said. Oyaleni rolled her eyes at her.

"Well, I'm not crazy enough for that,"

"I'll do it," Horner said, "He knows me."

"Absolutely not," Augustin said quickly, "You're the leader of the Republic in exile. If Stukov turned on you, it would be a checkmate."

"And you're the leader of the Umojan fleet, and it's highly probable that he would kill me on sight. Marín in the right choice here; he spoke to her, and she should go," Valerian said.

"And I'm willing to go..."

"No, it should be me, but I'm taking a sidearm," Vermaak said darkly.

"And that's why you're not going, Wynand," Augustin said, "We've wasted a lot of time arguing about this... Marín, can you still make the rendezvous?"

"If I leave now."

"Then go... Find out what he wants, and get back here. Keep your CMC's transponder on and for heaven's sake, be careful this time."

 _ _And there's still no time to get out of this damn dress.__

* * *

The after-victory party on the __Kuznetsov__ had been one hell of a celebration. After half a bottle of champagne, Dauphin had lost her cap and KD in the hangar bay. The carousing around her seemed to be happening in slow motion—and someone was pouring more champagne in her glass. There was shouting and loud music; she was thankful that the first of her senses to go when she was drunk was her hearing. Dauphin saw Reeves at the far end of the hangar speaking into the comm unit. The screen was mostly dark, but she recognized the unmistakable glow of Adm. Stukov's amber-colored eyes. Thinking back to her encounter with him gave her chills. She had seen what he could do to the fleet, and she had seen from the air what he could do on the ground. He frightened her, but how he had treated her and what she had seen on his ship made her pity him—and his son.

Reeves abruptly ended his call and moved away from the console towards her. She turned around so that he wouldn't see her face. He walked past without noticing her. Only a few hours earlier, she had stood nearly in the same spot watching him put a gun to a man's head and threaten his life. She would never see Reeves in the same way again. Dauphin thought about Gregory. He was most likely still in the brig alone, not privy to any of the celebrating around him. He also probably had no idea that his father was a large part of their victory. She suddenly didn't feel much like celebrating.

Walking down the hallway to her quarters, she had to dodge people who were much drunker than she was. Once inside, she realized she was not alone. KD was hanging half on and half off her upper bunk, her arm dangling limply off. Below her was a half-empty bottle of vodka whose contents and splashed all over the floor. She recognized the bottle from Stukov's stash from the _Aleksander_. They had to bribe a flight deck technician to get it back after they had abandoned it in the hangar bay. KD had wanted to leave it, but she felt like she owed it to Greg to keep it for him—especially since everything had gone so awry. Still inebriated, she thought it would be nice if she took some of it to show Greg in the brig. Quietly, she reached under her bunk and dragged the duffel out from under it. The bottles inside clinked softly. KD sat up suddenly in her bunk, her hair askew and her face flushed. A couple of strands of her hair were stuck to her lips.

"Hey! What are you doing with that?"

"I was going to go see Greg."

"No, don't take the booze."

"I'm not taking that. I'm just going to show him his dad's stuff."

"Oh." KD slithered off the top bunk, stumbling in her bare feet as she touched the ground. Tucking in her shirt, she grabbed Dauphin's champagne and downed it quickly. She smoothed back her hair. "Let's go then."

"Uh, I don't recall inviting you."

"Whatever. You need me to distract the guard," KD emptied the duffel bag of liquor except one bottle of vodka. She put two shot glasses in it.

"Why are you bringing that?"

"You'll see."

Outside in the hallway, people were still partying, but it had calmed down a little. They made their way to the brig without being noticed. When they reached the brig, KD gave Dauphin the duffel and took out the bottle and two glasses.

"Wait here ten seconds, then walk right into the cell block."

"Uh, okay?"

The automatic door opened for KD as she walked near it. She hoisted the bottle and the glasses over her head and pranced barefoot inside. A guard was sitting alone at his desk. He looked very bored.

"Hee-e-e-ey, buddy! It's me! KD! Remember me from basic training? No? Well, I thought I'd bring you a drink!"

The guard stood wide-eyed, surprised by her entrance. The door closed behind her, obscuring Dauphin's view.

"Um, thanks?"

Dauphin counted out ten seconds and then went inside. KD had sat down next to the guard, forcing him to turn towards her and away from the cell block door. Dauphin walked quickly past them and into the cell block.

The cell block was large and had multiple hallways. The carrier was like a small city and bad things did happen and people needed to be incarcerated. But today, there were only two people other than Greg in the cell block that she could see, and both appeared to be people who had partied a little too hard and were sleeping it off. Greg was on his own at the very end of the cell block. She wasn't surprised; Reeves had most likely hidden the fact he was here because he didn't want the fleet to know what was going on. Everyone who knew had to agree to not discuss Stukov with anyone at home and to not talk about him on the ship either. There would be too many questions for the fleet to answer if word got home.

When she found Greg, he was sitting in his cell, his arms folded and his head down, leaning forward on his knees. In the harsh light of his white cell in his white ghost uniform and pale skin, he almost blended into the wall.

"Greg," she said quietly. Greg looked up at her slowly. His eyes were red and his eyelids swollen.

"Dauphin... What...?"

"I thought... You might want some company... The battle for Tarsonis is over... Everyone's celebrating."

"Oh."

"Yeah... I, uh... That stuff you asked for... I brought it..."

"What stuff?"

"Your dad's stuff. Thought you might want to see it." Greg looked away, saddened. Dauphin began pulling some of it the items out. "Look, there's this neat sword thing, and his dress uniform..." Greg got up and walked to the far end of the cell away from her. "And that ID you gave me... He put a note on it for you... I wish you could read it..."

"Take it away."

"There's a photograph..."

" _ _Take it away__!"

"What's wrong?"

Greg ran his hands through his short-cropped hair, still turned away from her. "I want nothing to do with that... monster."

"You mean your dad or Reeves?"

"That... thing is not my father. My father did not write me a note, he did not let you have that stuff that has been... contaminated by that thing's infestation... And my father didn't try to save me. My father is dead. He died on Char. Whatever that creature is, it is not my father. It is the corpse of my father animated by something... foul." His voice began to crack and the lights in the brig began to flicker in a manner that unsettled Dauphin, "If it were my father, he would rather have _ _slit his throat than be a traitor__!" At the end of another hallway, Dauphin heard the shattering of glass. The overall light in the cell block darkened. " _ _Get out__ , and take that __damn bag__ with you!" __Oh shit, he's telekinetic... and powerful enough to get around his psi dampeners__. Dauphin grabbed the bag and ran as glass rained down on her from the ceiling. Dauphin realized both Stukov and Reeves had made a mistake. __He may look all of 12, but this kid can take care of himself.__ And she was even a little frightened of him. Dauphin ran back into the guard's room, but the room was pitch black. Without waiting for KD, she burst through the door and into the light of the hallway.

* * *

Admiral Marín locked the visor on the helmet of her CMC as she got ready to disembark the shuttle. She had flown herself down, not wanting to put anyone else at risk. She opened the hatch and the punishing winds on the planet's surface almost knocked her off her feet. She unsteadily walked in her CMC down the gangway, getting used to the suit's blocky movements. It had been years since she had been in one; everyone had to learn to use one as a cadet, but she was more comfortable flying into battle than walking. After a few steps, she was back into the groove of it, even though the loose top layer of the planet's soil made her steps slip and the grit singing past her helmet made visibility poor. She turned on her lights, but that only illuminated the air around her like she was in a dense fog. She turned them off completely and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. On her helmet's HUD, a topographical map guided her through the clouded darkness towards the coordinates the infested terran, Stukov, had given her. _Two clicks south_ , she thought, quickening her pace.

As she neared the coordinates, her radar began to show false positives of life forms above her, behind her, and in front of her. It looked like atmospheric interference, but given what she had learned about Stukov, she was on her guard. But without her weapon, there would be little she could do but run if she encountered a threat here.

Finally, she reached her destination. Sensor ghosts still blipped in and out of existence, but one, fairly close, stayed strong. It was moving slowly towards her, but if it was Stukov he had not tried to communicate. The first she saw of the creature was a burning, orange glow diffusing through the air around it. _Was it a hydralisk?_ she wondered. _Has Stukov lured me here just to assassinate me?_ She turned heel and got ready to run.

The figure stopped, and a low, growling voice somehow cut through the din of the howling wind, "So, I see that you found the courage to meet me." She had never heard his voice before, and was puzzled by his odd way of speaking. "And you are alone, as I instructed. Are you unarmed?"

"Yes," she said, raising her hands, and speaking loudly into her comm. "I gave my word. I would not jeopardize our meeting for my own feelings of safety."

"Good," the voice purred. As the figure moved closer, she realized the glow was psionic, emanating from a pair of baleful-looking eyes—and they were human. The figure of a man—half-zerg, and half-human—appeared from the fog. At his side was a bloated, infested arm as wide as she was. It could easily have palmed her helmet. Dressed all in black, he wore the uniform of their enemy, the UED. Somehow he could walk on the planet's surface without an atmo suit or CMC. Her hands were shaking in her mechanical gloves and a cold fear gripped her chest.

"Do not be afraid," he said, his lips not moving. __Of course he's a teep__ , she thought, glad that she had not taken Vermaak's recommendation and left with a sidearm. He would have known immediately. "Meeting is the easy part." He moved closer, now only an arms breadth away from her, and stopped. "I am Admiral Alexei Stukov, former second in command of the UED expeditionary fleet."

"Admiral Renata Marín, Umojan Protectorate Navy, commander of the Core Fleet and second to Fleet Admiral Thierry Augustin..."

"Pleasure to meet you. And now comes the hard part."

Confused, Marín began to respond, but Stukov pulled a metal object from his jacket and took a step towards her. Out of reflex, she reached for her gun—that wasn't there. Stukov activated the device and electricity arced out of it, striking her suit. It was an EMP device. Her HUD exploded in warnings and went silent. The motor in her suit powered down, and her joints froze. The momentum of her movement caused her to fall flat on her back. As she got her bearings, all she could see was the sky. Stukov's face loomed above her, smirking smugly. __What happens now?__ She thought, __Did he just bring me here to infest me after all?__ Stukov chuckled darkly. His hand manually closed her helmet's blast shield, plunging her into darkness.

"Don't worry. It will all be over soon."


	8. Chapter 8: The Hard Part

Stukov used a gravsled to bring the Umojan admiral, still in her CMC, to the bridge of the _Aleksander_. He did not like what he had done, but he had done it out of necessity. Stukov didn't want Reeves or the Republic and Umojan fleet to know the whereabouts of his base or Kerrigan's leviathan. It was imperative that Abathur continued his experiments, under his direction, undisturbed, and that his building army of infested be away from prying eyes. He had chosen that inhospitable nowhere of a planet so that he would not be observed either coming or going and so he could take the admiral away to a private place where he would not be followed or attacked. After immobilizing her, he had dragged her, with the help of a team of two hydralisks, back to his shuttle and then back to the _Aleksander_ , which was hidden in a nebula a few lightyears away.

He carefully slid Marín's CMC off of the gravsled and wrestled it with his infested arm into an upright position. She shifted inside and banged on the inner hull in frustration. After leaving the planet and sending the feral zerg he had summoned away, he was unable to read her thoughts and was alone with his own. It was just as well. When he had revealed that he was a "teep" she had engaged a simple defense against his intrusion that worked against low-level telepathy, as his indeed was. She had focused on a song—"Se Voul Ballare"—repeating it over and over to shield her thoughts. The choice was odd to him. Was it a challenge? Was it to steel herself? Or was it happenstance? But in all those cases, it was not something he thought he'd hear in the Koprulu sector. Often he would poke fun at DuGalle for being stuffy and listening to opera and classical music, but he had learned to enjoy it as well if for only being exposed to it constantly in his company. Most of the people he had encountered in the Koprulu sector—Raynor, Kerrigan, Horner, or even both Mengsks—he would not call "cultured." And if they claimed to be, like Valerian, they were in a brassy, ostentatious way that seemed performative. But he had no firsthand knowledge of the Umojans. Everything he had learned was from Republic news sources. They were usually defensive in most conflicts and often engaged in espionage. They had meddled in Dominion affairs—first supporting Arcturus Mengsk—and then most recently discrediting Valerian. That he could appreciate. In his mind, Valerian should have paid for what Moebius did to him—more than just losing his position. Because of this and the Umojan Protectorate's own change of leadership, they had become more open in their diplomacy. They had always assisted the Dominion against the zerg, but now they were helping the new Republic rebuild its agricultural sectors with their advanced technology after the damage done by the zerg and the UED. Still, citizens of the Republic seemed to think of them as self-absorbed and over-serious.

Stukov felt around on the outside of the CMC. There were two emergency release catches on it—one on the inside and the other on the outside. He'd made sure to fry the interior catch so she couldn't free herself and also to manually open the suit's air vents so she wouldn't suffocate. Stukov fumbled under the CMC's chest plate for the exterior emergency release. The Umojan CMC was slightly different in design than a Republic or UED one. The viewport on the helmet extended further onto the chest and was squared. There was also more electronic equipment, which had made it more susceptible to the EMP device he had rigged together. While he looked for the catch, he rehearsed in his head what he would say to her for the hundredth time. The impression he made and the information he gave would dictate whether they would assist him or not. He needed their help, but he wasn't going to tell them how desperate he was.

Stukov found the emergency catch and yanked it free. The suit cracked open at the chest with a pneumatic hiss, but the helmet release malfunctioned. She wouldn't be able to see as she stepped out. A small hand reached out and braced against the side of the suit and another pushed the suit open wider. Reflexively, he removed his glove and grabbed her hand to help her out. Puzzled, he realized her arms were bare; as she struggled out, she revealed her leg to her thigh. She ducked out of the suit and put both feet uncertainly on the infestation covering the _Aleksander's_ floor. As Marín emerged fully, Stukov was surprised to find she was wearing a black, formal evening gown. She coughed, making a face perhaps at how the ship smelled, then straightened the bodice with an angry motion and picked up her skirt to keep it from dragging the floor. Stukov realized it was much too long for her without shoes. Her appearance caught him off guard; maybe that was the point. He forgot what he was going to say, but thankfully he was rarely at a loss for words.

"Does your military not have uniforms?" he said looking down at her, bemused. She took a step towards Stukov, standing toe-to-toe with him. She was several inches shorter than him. "Or height requirements?"

Marín looked him straight in the eye and Stukov held her gaze. To Stukov she seemed clearly scared and agitated and trying to hide the former. "Hilarious. Your little stunt on Tarsonis interrupted my night at the opera. I've been in this goddamn dress for almost eight hours now."

"I'm sorry the UED invasion didn't work with your schedule. Maybe next time they'll call you first."

"It'd be nice if we could all be that civil, wouldn't it? For a planet that considers us to be a backwater, your people are not exactly polite."

"Polite? What was it one of your pilots said? 'Let's lube him up and...'"

"Oh, so you were listening to ship-to-ship communications? I'll have to talk to Horner about changing the frequencies... For the record, that wasn't one of mine." Stukov hadn't actually been bothered. Talk like that was par for the course among troops who got too comfortable with each other, like the ones who had boarded his ship. It had stuck in his mind because he wasn't used to it being directed at him, and the man who said it had a name common to his home region. She raised an eyebrow at him, "I'm surprised you didn't pick up on anything worse from me while I was in that suit. Why don't you tell me what I'm thinking right now?"

"It doesn't sound like that is necessary. And my telepathy only functions when other zerg are around. We're out of range—purposefully. I didn't think it diplomatic to read a potential ally's thoughts during negotiations."

"Potential ally? Diplomacy? It wasn't very 'diplomatic' of you to EMP your 'ally's' suit and drag her across the sector... And what in the hell do you think I'd want to negotiate with you?"

"The terms of my defection."

Marín looked incredulous. Stukov began to worry. It was natural for her to angry at him for what was basically kidnapping, but he was hoping that she would be more open to the idea of an alliance with him.

"Defection? Horner and Valerian were under the impression you were on _our_ side until you started sending infested into Tarsonis City."

Stukov straightened, summoning his pride. "I have always been a UED officer, but I was abandoned by them to the zerg and tortured by agents of the Dominion. I allied with Kerrigan at first to exact revenge, but then to combat a larger threat. In the absence of the UED and Kerrigan, I now try to stay out of conflicts or at least side with those who cause the least suffering. The UED are here again, and my loyalty _should_ lie there, but they foolishly think that attempting to conquer this sector will do anything more than cause an overwhelming loss of life. That's something I cannot abide."

"Then _what_ is there to _negotiate_?"

Stukov sighed, putting his infested arm behind him and leaning back against the holographic display in the middle of the bridge. He hadn't planned on giving this much information, but he decided to not engage in subterfuge. He wasn't good at it anyway. Stukov had nothing to lose and a lot to gain from forging an honest relationship with the Umojans and the new Republic. "There are... complications..."

"Such as?"

"They have me by the throat," he said angrily. "My son is on board one of the carriers. They have threatened to kill him—and the rest of my family—if I do not continue to submit to them. That's why I need your help." Stukov studied her face, wishing that he could read her thoughts now. She took a deep breath. The anger left her face and her eyes softened.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Does that mean you need our help?

Stukov hesitated. He didn't want to seem weak, but if he was going to rescue his son, he would need assistance. Stukov was certain he could infiltrate the carrier on his own—even destroy it—but any action on his part was risky. The moment that he was found to be responsible, Gregory would most likely be executed.

"I want to make a deal. I will defect, and the Umojan Protectorate and the Republic will have my resources at their command if they will free me from... my entanglement with UED forces."

Marín looked at him skeptically. "You've fought for the UED, the zerg, and the Dominion, and you've betrayed all but the zerg. How do I know you're not going to turn on Umoja as well?"

"Betrayed? I have done _no_ such thing. I helped depose Mengsk, yes, but I have never fought directly against the Dominion except as a UED officer... And that was another _life_. And neither of us would be talking to each other right now if not for my participation in the war against Amon alongside Kerrigan and the Dominion—and by extension your people—whom I should have had _no_ loyalty to."

"Don't make it sound like you fought for the Umojan Protectorate. I fought in that war; my commanding officer _died,_ and someone very close to me almost did. I don't remember you at all. You're going to have to do better than that to make Umoja care about helping you."

"I'm sure the Dominion thought my participation... problematic. They could not very well hide Kerrigan and her contribution, but I could just be written off as another of the infested... But if you need something more... concrete... Then maybe you will care about this," Stukov moved his hand over the holographic display's controls with a quickness that made the Umojan admiral flinch. A holographic image of a star system appeared above it—it was Umojan territory, highlighted with the fleet's path towards Umoja. He studied her reaction. Her jaw clenched as she studied the display. She forgot him for a moment, and started walking around the table, carrying her skirt and picking her way over the tendrils of infestation on the floor.

"They're coming for us next."

"Yes, once they Tarsonis is fully under their control, they will seize their shipyards and use it as a launching point against Tyrador and then Korhal. If Korhal falls, the core side of your territory will be flanked by UED-occupied Dominion planets. Then, they will begin a push into your territory. After that, they'll deal with the Kel-Morians if they find it necessary..."

"The Kel-Morians will just sign a trade agreement with them and call it a day."

"A fair assessment, yes."

She continued to study the display, walking now on the other side of the table. Her leg flashed in and out of the slit in her skirt as she walked. She had a quick-tempered, clever demeanor that he had not expected from an Umojan, a people whom the Republic stereotyped as phlegmatic and humorless. It had played into his hands. Without Horner, he was afraid no one would catch on that he had been holding back. As he watched her, he Idly wondered what mix of Earth nationalities she had descended from. The ship that had crash-landed on Umoja—the one that had survived—had on it mainly degenerates from the African continent and from areas around the Mediterranean and southern Europe. With her olive skin, dark hair, and small stature, she could have been from anywhere.

"Not very creative, are they?"

"Sorry?" He said, realizing he had let himself get distracted.

"This attack. It's straightforward to the point of stupidity. No attempt to preemptively take down any of our automated fortress defenses like The Keep... It relies heavily on superior numbers and firepower. They seem very sure of themselves... Like they're just going to waltz in..."

"Yes, it is wasteful... There will be many lives lost on both sides."

"Wasteful? I thought your main tactic was to overwhelm your enemies with wave after wave of the infested."

"There is no waste of _life_ , Admiral. And unfortunately the dead are a... constantly renewing resource."

Marín chose to ignore the comment and continued to look at the holographic display. After a moment, she spoke.

"Is this all the data you have?"

"There is much more... I'll give you the rest when you've done what I've asked."

"When we rescue your son, they'll know you've switched sides. A lot of this data will be useless because they will change their plans."

"Not all of it. I have technical schematics, numbers and statistical data on the fleet... And security codes... You'll also have my fleet to add to your own... Surely that is more valuable, no?"

She appraised him, seeming doubtful. He straightened himself, crossing his arms in front of him in an attempt to look more formidable. _Perhaps she needs a reminder that I'm a monster_ , he thought, but then he decided against it. Relating to her as a human, he reasoned, was a better tactic. In any case, he felt he could work with her in a way he could never work with his own countryman, Reeves.

"How many, uh, units do you have under your command?" Marín said, turning her back to him and again studying the display.

"Far too many. There are millions of infested and millions more that could become infested... And that doesn't even factor in my ability to raise and command the zerg."

"That's tempting," she said, turning away again. "But it'll be a hard sell. Getting your son off the carrier will be difficult. And I'm pretty sure using infested troops is against the peacetime accords between Umoja and the Republic. At best it's desecration of a corpse. At worst it's a war crime."

"I know what being infested alive is like. I don't recommend it. I only infest the dead. Surely that's not a 'war crime.'"

"But you most likely killed them first... Like you did on Tarsonis."

"They would have been dead anyway regardless of the tactics I used. Think of it this way: if you've lost your weapon, and you see a dead soldier on the ground, would you not take his weapon and use it?"

"That's a false equivalency. Reanimating a corpse is much different than picking up an inanimate object."

"A corpse _is_ an inanimate object!"

"Yes, but that person was 'animate' at some point..."

"It sounds as though you're not interested in my offer," he said, beginning to become annoyed. Marín put her hands up.

"Just playing devil's advocate."

"If you were being literal, that would make you _my_ advocate."

"Do you think of yourself as a devil?"

He wanted to say yes. He would normally say yes. But intimidation would not get him what he wanted.

"No, no I'm not. The zerg have made me a monster, but I _am_ human. I want to help, but I can't until my son is free." _The last part is true_ , Stukov thought, _but the rest is a lie._ There was little of his humanity left—only a shred that kept him from totally becoming zerg. At turns he wanted to be free of his humanity and other times of the Swarm, but somehow, as either zerg or human, he still cared about his son's fate. But Reeves had awoken the cold beast in him; he wanted revenge. This was not something that his allies would understand. The lie was simpler. Marín seemed to believe it. "And if it is absolutely necessary, I can abandon the infested in favor of more... traditional zerg forces."

"Okay, that's good to hear... And certainly something I'll mention to my superiors... What's your plan for your son's extraction?"

Stukov called up a different starchart. This showed the UED fleet in its current location in the Tarsonis system. It played through a loop showing a precise liberator attack targeting the fleet's flank. This drew away the _Kuznetsov's_ escort and native liberators and allowed a dropship access to its aft hull where there were no gun turrets.

"I've been able to isolate the _Kuznetsov_ in simulations... This carrier does not generally stay on the front lines... It instead supplies support and cover fire for its squadrons. With an elaborate enough distraction, the fleet would be divided and the _Kuznetsov_ exposed enough to be boarded." He tapped the console again, closing in on the squadron of liberators that would be used. "This is how the fleet should react to the squadron based on their maneuvers during the attack on Tarsonis."

Marín watched the video loop several times. Again, he wished that he knew what she was thinking. "That's not all I would require... Someone would need to obtain the encoded comm buoy frequency so a message could be relayed to my family..."

"That would be the least difficult part... An attack would be costly..."

"But you have much to gain."

She went silent again. Not being able to hear what was going on in her mind was excruciating, but he would have to get used to it again if he were to join forces with the Umojans and the Republic. Allying with them would mean spending time away from the zerg. And doing so made him feel out of control. On the outside, the zerg seemed chaotic, their animal instincts making them seem random in their behavior. But nothing could be less the truth. The zerg had few wants, and when they were provided they would react a certain way; take them away, they would react in a different—but predictable—way. Beings like Zagara, Kerrigan, Abathur, and himself were outliers, but their motivations he understood. Humans you could never fully know, and it made him anxious now in their presence. He didn't know if it was because of his betrayal by the one person he least expected, or it was due to his time with the zerg. It would take him awhile to be comfortable with not seeing the full picture. Stukov watched the muscles in her back move as she nonchalantly gathered and re-gathered her skirt, lost in thought and most likely weighing her own motivations.

"I'll take this back to the fleet," Marín said finally, turning to him again, "But I can't promise anything."

"I understand."

Stukov looked over at the console and realized that the meeting had taken much longer than he had anticipated. It was probably not a good idea to keep her any longer. "I should take you back to your comrades now. I wouldn't want them to think some harm has come to you."

"You're not going to put me back in that coffin, are you?" Marín said, nodding back to her disabled CMC.

He had, in fact, been planning on putting her back in it, but that seemed inhumane and rude now.

"No, but I will have to ask that you remain off the bridge until we get back to the rendezvous point. I'll make sure your CMC is operational by then." He walked to the elevator, "Come. We don't have much time."

Stukov led her through the ship to the hanger bay, feeling somewhat embarrassed by the state of his once proud ship. It was as if he had invited someone over and then had forgotten to clean up. Being disconnected momentarily from the zerg made him realize how disgusting the _Aleksander_ was now on the inside and how roughly he really lived.

Stukov put Marín on his shuttle and locked her out of the controls. With his mind, he urged the _Aleksander_ to FTL like a beast of burden. As the ship traveled towards its destination, he reinitiated Marín's CMC and brought it to the hangar bay. Inside the shuttle, he helped her back into it.

"I'll take you planetside now and land a few kilometers from your shuttle. Your CMC should be fully operational—except for your transponder, which I removed," he gave her a sidelong look. She shrugged as she maneuvered her arm into the suit.

"You didn't say anything about locator devices—just weapons."

Stukov took control of the shuttle and piloted it towards the planet below. The ride was silent until they hit the planet's dense atmosphere. The wind sang around the hull, buffeting the shuttle, making it shift from side to side abruptly. After a few minutes, the atmosphere was so dense that Stukov had to rely on instrumentation to fly. He fired the landing jets without even seeing the ground, and when he did, it was uncomfortably close. Their landing was rough; his flight back to the _Kuznetsov_ was the first time he had piloted a shuttle in years. Putting a shuttle in a hangar was one thing, and landing in hazardous conditions was another.

He pulled the hatch and the roar of the wind came in and was deafeningly loud.

 _This is your stop, Admiral_ , he thought to her. She balked at his voice in her head. He looked over his shoulder at her and smirked, pleased he had startled her—but then was surprised by her unguarded thoughts. She was going over their discussion and different ways to pitch his plan. He felt her uncertainty about how they would respond; Marín was worried that his use of the infested would be a deal-breaker. But what surprised him the most was that she hoped that he would be able to rescue his son no matter the outcome of the negotiation with her people. He felt awful now that he had intruded on her. His quick turn on her made Stukov feel uneasy; he had gone right back to being a monster the moment he was in contact with the zerg again. He grabbed the pilot's headset off the console and tapped into her CMC comm unit.

"I'll be watching if anything goes wrong... All the data I showed you is on your CMC's onboard computer."

"Thanks. How will we contact you after I've taken this data back to the fleet?"

"There's an encryption key and a low-band communication frequency imbedded in the message I sent you. I have an overlord shadowing the _Hyperion_. If they send out a signal, I'll be listening."

"Easy enough..." Marín began walking towards the door.

"If was a pleasure to meet you, Admiral. I hope we meet again under better circumstances."

"Yes... Maybe next time you won't resort to kidnapping."

"And maybe you'll be less formally attired. Or I can put on a suit to make you feel less out of place..."

He could hear Marín's exasperated sigh over the suit's comm. Her mind was full of slightly rude retorts that she was too polite to say.

"We'll be in contact soon." Stukov nodded to her.

Marín stepped into the inhospitable wasteland outside the shuttle. Stukov remained on the ground for awhile, monitoring her location until she was a kilometer away. He then piloted the shuttle back into the low clouds away from Marín on the ground and the zerg he controlled on the planet's surface. As he left the system, Stukov was alone again, and suddenly felt very sharply what that meant.


	9. Chapter 9: Rivalries

Troy Reeves walked purposefully across the deck of the hangar bay, carefully composing himself. The crew must not see any shred of weakness or a lack of decorum. He straightened his jacket and set his cap. Talking with Stukov disturbed him. He was the last person he had expected to see here, or again, and one of the people he would want to least want to see ever. It had made him perversely happy to see his old rival disfigured and tainted by the race he had closely studied, but disturbing to learn that he now wielded their power. Stopping in the hallway, he pressed the button to call for a lift. Groups of soldiers, captains, and crew walked past him, their loud talking amplified by alcohol. Reeves tipped his hat to them and gave them a grit-teethed smiled. As he got in, a young ensign followed blithely behind him. Once he realized who he had boarded the elevator with, he clearly had tried to turn heel to walk out, but stopped, realizing it was too late. Reeves smiled at him. _At least he registers my authority._

"I won't bite, ensign. What floor do you need?"

"S-seven, sir."

"Seven? Crew quarters?"

"Yes, sir. Not one for parties, sir."

"Good boy. Neither am I."

The ensign stepped off the elevator and Reeves continued to the bridge. When he got there, it was empty; they had celebrated briefly earlier, and he had given them the night off. He walked into his office. All was silent.

 _Silence_. He enjoyed it. Too much of his job was either loud with the sounds of war or with the sounds of mass humanity. Reeves took his meals in his office or in his quarters. With the end of their first battle and after dealing with Stukov, he needed the solitude—and he also needed to compose a message to Henri, his husband. He didn't want to seem upset, especially when he had good news. He was alive, one, and they had taken Tarsonis. Of course, if Henri registered he was upset, he couldn't tell him about Stukov—he couldn't tell anyone. If Stukov's true fate was widely known, he couldn't imagine the fear that it would engender that someone as distinguished (it wasn't the word he wanted to use, but he couldn't think of another) as Stukov had been overtaken by the zerg. It would demonstrate just how dangerous the zerg were.

He had to stop thinking about it. Reeves sat at his desk and turned on his console, positioning himself in front of the screen so that he was in range of the video feed. But then he saw he already had a message from Henri. There was no way for them to speak in real time. They would be passing each other endlessly for the entirety of the conflict. It would be an ongoing call and response conversation. Henri had gotten the first word in. Reeves opened the message. In the study of their home in Charleston, Henri sat, his arms draped over his cello on a leather chaise lounge. He was wearing the silk shirt Reeves had gifted him for his birthday last year.

"Troy, honey, hello! I hope this gets to you before you get into Tarsonis. If not, well, you know me… Always fashionably late. Sometimes even missing the party!"

Reeves snorted with laughter. He _had_ missed the "party."

"I don't know what to say. I miss you? I'm definitely afraid for you, and I pray for you, even though I know it won't do any good. Since I'm at a loss for words and I'm pretty sure we're being monitored by whatever censors are on this channel, I thought I'd play you something… Here goes…"

Henri began to play, his long arms languidly crossing his cello. Reeves had always been captivated by the sensuous way he moved. As the tune began, he recognized it. It was one that he had played before but not often. It was faster than much of the music that he played and darker. He searched for the name of it, but only came up with the composter—Stravinsky. A Russian. Reeves anger suddenly returned.

Reeves's XO, Commander Gorman, appeared at his door. Reeves turned off the recording. Gorman took a step back, reading the anger on his commander's face. Reeves demurred.

"Come in, what is it?"

"There's been an… incident… in the brig. We've had to restrain one of the prisoners."

"Which one?"

"A ghost? Did you know about this?"

Reeves stood up so quickly his chair fell over backwards. Gorman jumped at the sound.

"Was he harmed?"

"No, but he took out all the electronic equipment on the cell block and even some above and below. Some sort of telekinesis."

"Was it an escape attempt?"

"If it was, it wasn't a good one. He could've walked out, but he's still down there. We put an external psi dampener on him but…" Gorman handed Reeves a datapad. "There are some irregularities in his file… I thought you might want to take a look. Why was he being held? I didn't see…" Reeves interrupted him.

"Gorman, don't stick your nose into this. From this point forward, I alone deal with this ghost. Any inquiries go straight to me. I want no one to speak of him. There's no ghost in our brig, and there never was. Is that clear?"

Gorman went white. Reeves knew he understood. He generally allowed him more freedom than others of his staff—he had known him the longest of any of the crew—but because of this Gorman also knew how quickly Reeves could turn on someone. And when he turned, the relationship was soured forever.

"O-of course, Admiral."

"Dismissed."

Gorman left quickly. Reeves read through Gregory Stukov's file at his desk. He was young—22 biologically but 27 chronologically—and had entered the UED's ghost program late either because he had been shielded by someone or because he was a late bloomer. His psi index was midrange and he had no reason to have been brain panned—no covert missions or erratic behavior. This appeared to be his first major mission.

On brain-panning, Reeves aligned more with the Terran Dominion's view of the practice than with his own government. Degenerates with psionic powers, he felt, needed to be tightly controlled. Brain-panning, he believed, made them docile. They knew no better than to follow orders and could do nothing for themselves if the practice was used judiciously. It had been standard operating procedure until around the time when Reeves had just begun maturing into his military career. Reeves's first choice of posting had been a ghost "academy" in Montreal. He had already begun living there, and it was where he had met Henri. But the door to that opportunity had suddenly slammed shut. The same year a paper had been put before the UPL Council written by a group of anonymous military officers. It was titled "The Treatment of 'Degenerate' Psionic Assets in Training and Combat: An Analysis of Statistics and Subsequent Recommendations." In it was a scathing deconstruction of many of the academy's training methods and processes, the most notable of which their usage of "brain-panning" or memory erasure. Common wisdom was that eliminating an agent's past made them more loyal. This paper, with statistics, case studies, and even some experiments, seemed to prove that it didn't. One rhetorical question always stuck out to him, and it was the one that was his career's undoing: "How can soldiers be loyal to a country they don't remember?" Of all the arguments—that soldiers who were brain-panned could not relate to their commanders, that not being able to remember their families made them unable to form familial bonds among their comrades, and that making them unable to care for themselves in any practical sense put them at a disadvantage in survival situations—the question was the one that shut down the academies temporarily until they could be reformed. Reeves had sided against the paper and the revisions it would make. But the paper's ideas had just enough patriotic spin on them. The regime changed and was out. And he was out with it.

Years later, a few months before the Expeditionary Fleet was about to leave, a memo was forwarded to him by a friend who had survived the change in leadership. It was from Vice Admiral Stukov. His friend had written a note with it saying, "Notice anything?" In his memo, Stukov had sent along Admiral DuGalle's call for the number of ghosts that they needed to accompany them to the Koprulu sector. With it, he had sent his own qualifiers since they would be directly under his command. He "under no circumstances" wanted any ghost that had been brain-panned for any reason—and he explained why. In his explanation, there were several sentences that were _worded in almost exactly the same way_ as the paper that had made its way to the UPL Council years ago. Either Stukov kept a copy around or he had written at least part of it. Reeves looked up the paper and read it again. Sure enough, in the passages where the language was the most heated and blunt, there he recognized Stukov's voice. He had sidetracked Reeves's career from afar—and it hadn't been the first time.

But now, as he read Gregory's file, he wondered how Stukov had been so prescient. How had he known his son—who wouldn't have shown signs before Stukov left—would be a degenerate? Unless his father was. _Wouldn't that be the icing on the cake_ , Reeves thought. _The bad egg. The spoiled apple. DuGalle's pet a psionic._ Gorman had been right about there being something fishy about the file. His psi index was rated at 5.5—too low for telekinesis and for the damage done to the brig. There were ghosts that were exceptions, but not many. His other scores were above average but not exceptional—as if he had been purposefully lowballing his tests or someone had changed his scores keep attention away from him. He would make some discrete inquiries to see who might be the culprit, but some of the information he was hoping the boy himself would divulge. A high psi index, holding back his powers, being too connected, or behaving erratically—all of these circumstances could potentially warrant brain-panning if presented the right way.

A brain-panned son would be just what Stukov deserved. Gregory needed it, he thought, _all_ ghosts needed it. But if Gregory had any loyalty to his father—and if he had been trying to escape—it would be necessary regardless of how he felt about Stukov. He couldn't lose him, and the look on Stukov's face when he realized his son no longer knew who he was would balance the ledger that Reeves had been tallying of his misdeeds.

Reeves looked up the name of the chief ghost wrangler and trainer on board. He had seen several messages about a "missing ghost" from him but he had been ignoring them. He found his name—Special Ops Chief Shin. Shin picked up immediately when Reeves called. A weathered man appeared on the screen with close-cropped silver hair and one eye that was all white. In another place, he would have a prosthetic, but in the UED, such things weren't allowed.

"Shin!" He said curtly as a greeting. Reeves didn't like that.

"Chief Shin, this is Admiral Reeves…" He said, waiting for his authority over him to sink in. It never did.

"Yes? What do you need?"

"I have a recalcitrant ghost that needs to be re-educated."

"You mean brain-panned? A drastic measure. I would need to evaluate them."

"That will not be necessary."

"Yes, it will. Is this about my missing ghost?"

"That is not your concern."

"Like hell it isn't. Where is he?"

"If you don't have that machine ready in an hour, you'll be in the same hole I put him in."

"What? This is out—"

Reeves cut him off. He knew what he had to do, but he wanted to speak with the boy first.

The lights had been restored in the brig by the time Reeves entered. A tech was still working on the guard's surveillance terminal, her head in an access port under the desk. The guard looked on, standing nearby, bored and helpless. An ensign was still sweeping up the glass in the hallway of the cell block. The guard quickly stood at attention when Reeves entered. The tech hit her head on the desk, but also stood at attention. Reeves barely acknowledged them.

"I want both of you to still be here when I come back out. Talk to _no_ one, let no one leave, and send _anyone_ who comes in away. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

Reeves skulked into the cell block, gripping the datapad Gorman had given him in his hand. He stopped at Gregory's cell and looked in at him. When Gregory saw him, he quickly stood, his large green eyes meeting his fleetingly and then darting away. There was a thick, white metal collar around his neck—the external dampener they had fitted him with. Most ghosts had a failsafe surgically implanted in their brains, but they were calibrated to the psi index in their files. If he had one, it would be incorrectly fitted if his file was wrong. As he looked at him, Reeves saw little of his father in him. Maybe the eye shape and the body type, but the rest was his mother, whom Reeves had met infrequently but vividly remembered. That made it easier to talk to him. If he'd looked like Stukov, he thought, it would have been a lot harder not to kill him there in the hangar. But it would be harder to brain-pan him, and, if it came to it, kill him later, _When his father inevitably pisses me off_.

He briefly thought about how hilarious it would be if it turned out Gregory wasn't actually his son, and his wife had already been halfway out the door that long before their divorce. But he knew that wasn't possible. The mandatory DNA screening most children went through to predict psionic ability would also have established paternity. Gregory had avoided testing—officer's family privilege—until he most likely began to show signs of what the UED saw as an affliction. That was the first of many oddities of his file, which he would discuss with him.

Reeves held up the datapad for Gregory to see. "I have your dossier right here, Gregory…" Gregory's eyes followed it nervously. "There are a few items I think you'd better explain."

"Okay…" Gregory murmured.

"First, your file says not a thing about you being a teek. That's a little odd, don't you think?" He said, his voice raising with the question."

"I… guess?"

"You guess? Any idea why that pertinent information was kept out of your file?"

Gregory was silent for a moment.

"Clerical error?" He finally said. Reeves's eyes narrowed. He saw more of his father in him now. That was exactly the kind of flippant remark his father would make.

"Are you trying to be funny, son?"

"No, sir," he said quickly. Reeves watched his face. He was obviously afraid of him. The remark had been guileless if a bit stupid.

"It also says your psi index is five and a half—and we both know that can't possibly be right."

"Why not?"

"Don't play coy with me. We both know a human must have at least a PI of at least eight to be telekinetic. Tell me what your _real_ number is."

Gregory was silent again, looking away.

"Boy, if you don't tell me, I'll have it beaten out of you."

"Eight point two," he said wearily, "What does it matter?"

"Because one of my most powerful ghosts is exhibiting 'erratic behavior,' and may need some more permanent restraint than that psi dampener." Gregory took a step back, the back of his leg hitting the bench behind him, causing him to lose his footing and fall against the wall.

"No, that's not necessary…"

"You tried to _escape_."

"I didn't!"

"That's _enough_!" A voice said from down the hallway. Dressed in a greying, threadbare ghost's uniform covered by a long, black duster, Shin marched towards Reeves. Gregory stood up when he saw him. Shin ignored Reeves. "Finally, I found you. I thought you'd gone AWOL. But that wasn't right."

"I'm sorry. I've been in here since we got here…"

"Don't apologize. What have I told you about that?"

"I'm sor… I mean…"

"How did you get _in_ here?" Reeves said, blustering.

"I'm a ghost? How else? You're not hard to find. All I did was ask the computer where you were. You really should have your whereabouts clearance-locked." Reeves fumed. "They didn't hurt you, did they?" he said, turning back to Gregory.

"No, but he _put a gun to my head_."

Shin turned quickly to Reeves, "You _what?_ "

From down the hallway, another prisoner had woken, hearing the three of them talking. He began banging on the wall.

"Hello? Who's there? I am a Terran Republic citizen, damn it. I demand due process and a _lawyer_." It was Marcos Marinakis. Reeves had almost forgotten about him, but he needed him later.

"Shut _up_!" he yelled at him. Reeves's rage was about to get the best of him. He turned back to Gregory.

"I sense your anger, Reeves," Shin said calmly, "But this boy is not his father." Reeves became irater at the imposition of Shin on his thoughts. He had accessed what amounted to classified data. Shin had not been privy to any briefings on Stukov and his appearance in the Koprulu sector.

"That _thing_ is not my father!"

"What?" Reeves said, taken aback.

"It is a zerg-infested _zombie_ and an abomination." Reeves never considered that Gregory would not see Stukov as his father anymore. It hadn't even occurred to him that Stukov may not be Stukov but instead a reanimated version of him. But the way Stukov had spoken to him, the stunt he had pulled—he had been more vicious than usual, but it wasn't out of character. He had been his same, sardonic self. It had to have been the real Stukov; he felt it. His body may have been tainted by the zerg, but his mind was still there. Gregory had not been able to speak to him. He had only seen what he had done and _had_ to believe that he had not betrayed and abandoned them all those years ago. Reeves realized that brain-panning would be a kindness to Gregory and to his father. He would not use it on him—not yet anyway. Down the hallway, Marinakis began making noise again.

"You can't _do_ this! I am a _presidential candidate_!

"You're right, Shin. He's not his father. His father is dead. We should be more respectful of that. Of course that _thing_ we're allied with is an abomination… But we must play along, right?"

Gregory nodded slowly, suspicious.

"There's no reason to punish him, Reeves," Shin said quietly.

"No, there isn't. But he'll have to stay here for his own safety…"

"Fine. As long as we don't have need for the operation room…" Shin began. Marinakis bellowed in the background.

"Hold that thought, Shin. I think I still have use for your machine…"

* * *

Note: The Stravinsky piece is the cello version of _Suite Italienne:_ "II. Serenata" if anyone cares lol.


	10. Chapter 10: Alliances

In the darkness of the empty bridge of the _Hyperion_ , Adm. Matthew Horner stood at the holographic war table alone. His meeting with the fleet about Stukov's defection had been over for a few hours, but he just couldn't bring himself to make the call. Above the table, instead of star charts and battle plans, a propaganda vid produced by the UED was projected in full color. The light of Tarsonis City in daytime flashed across Horner's face. It cast his face in sharp shadows, deepening the lines that had recently appeared, forged by decades of military service. When he had been preparing for the presidential debate and thinking about national defense, he did _not_ think there would be another major conflict like this one. He had thought they might have a skirmish with Zagara over territory, a minor border war with the Kel-Morians or, less likely, the Umojan Protectorate. Horner had never imagined that the UED would return, much less with this large of a force.

The propaganda vid opened with martial, patriotic music (it could have been their national anthem—he didn't know) in a major key played over a siege tank driving through Tarsonis City. In it was the commander of the UED fleet, an Adm. Troy Reeves, smiling and waving to crowds of people that lined the streets. It was cartoonishly staged. A voiceover—not from any reporter he recognized as being from Tarsonis—began.

"The UED and the citizens of Tarsonis celebrate our grand victory and the people's freedom from the tyranny of the Terran Republic." The siege tank rolled up to the steps of Mengsk's stronghold. Marcos Marinakis stood motionless and oddly straight in a conservative, tailored suit and starched shirt—an outfit he would never have chosen to wear—on its front steps. Adm. Reeves jogged to him and clasp his hand. Marinakis smiled mechanically. "For the former citizens of the Terran Republic, the UED ushers in a new age of prosperity by backing Marcos Marinakis, wealthy businessman and voter favorite, as the new president of the Terran Republic after it was abandoned by its current president, Admiral Matthew Horner." Horner winced at hearing his name in that context. _Is that the way they're spinning it? That we abandoned them? I guess in a way we did_. He recognized the UED's tactics: _Occupy, set up a puppet dictator, become like a parasite sapping the colony's resources… Standard operating procedure for imperialist conquerors… But how did they get Marinakis to comply?_ He reasoned it was probably through force or by holding something over his head like they had Stukov. _It could just as easily have been me up there_.

As he turned it off, he realized they hadn't mentioned Stukov. _But then again, I guess they wouldn't. Would they see him as a traitor? They have some weird ideas about "purity" regarding technology and biology…_ But the more he thought about it, the more troubling it became. Doctoring his appearance to make him look human for the vid would have been a simple thing, and they could have acted as though he had used psi emitters and disrupters to control the zerg—as he still occasionally did and had when he was second in command of the UED Expeditionary Fleet. _They must think of their alliance as temporary. Stukov's not going home. They'll make sure of that._

 _Stukov… I hate to be the bearer of bad news… No…_ he thought to himself, rehearsing what he would next say. And he had to say it personally—he owed him that much respect and courtesy. The leaders of the three fleets—himself, Valerian, Augustin, plus Marín, Vermaak and Oyaleni—had met aboard the _Vrede_ to discuss Stukov's proposal. It had been a contentious meeting. Marín had made her case well, but Oyaleni, Vermaak and Valerian were skeptical about using their resources to rescue one man. Trading the lives of well-trained marines, ghosts, and pilots—which were already in scarce supply—for a single valuable asset did not seem like a good trade at this point in the war. Also, Horner was used to his tactics and use of the infested, but the others, particularly the Umojans, were not, and were dubious of his trustworthiness. _And he saved my life—that of course makes me biased.._. That, and he knew that without Stukov they may not be able to defend Tyrador IX, his childhood home, made what he had to do now that much harder.

He input the frequency for the secure channel into the _Hyperion's_ comm system and opened it. The frequency Stukov chose was modulated in an odd way, causing a weird static in the channel and a buzz that faded in and out. Almost immediately, Stukov appeared. He was not on the bridge of the _Aleksander_ , but somewhere else—at a desk in his office or in his quarters. Behind him was a large glass window, cracked but webbed with infestation. His eyes luminesced in a frightening way in the dim lighting of wherever he was.

"Horner… Good to see you made it back to the fleet."

"Yes… And I apparently have you to thank for that."

"Just be thankful I've been keeping up with current events… Or it may have been you in Marinakis place… Shaking hands with Troy…"

"I guess you were watching that as well… Do you know Admiral Reeves?"

"Enough to know he's a dangerously incompetent and vindictive ass. And one that has my son."

 _Well, here we go…_

"About that…"

"Yes?"

"Stukov, I'm sorry, but we just don't have the resources for a rescue mission. What you've asked… The risks involved… The price is too high for us right now. We have to turn you down."

Stukov sat back in his chair, silently watching Horner, his eerie, glowing eyes boring holes in him. During the silence between them, Horner heard the hiss of the bridge's elevator doors opening. He resisted the urge to turn around to see who it was—mostly because he already knew.

"If you could wait…" Horner said hopefully.

"I _can't wait_ , Horner. They'll _kill my son_." Stukov said, his voice cracking in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. Horner was taken aback.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Stukov. We just don't have the manpower." Stukov straightened in his chair, his expression turning stony and cold.

"And so am I. I'll see you at Tyrador."

Stukov abruptly cut off the call. Horner sighed. Valerian stepped out of the shadows and came to stand next to Horner. He had been consciously keeping out of the video's pickup to keep from engaging with Stukov. Horner wondered if Stukov even knew Valerian and Moebius Corp. were part of the Terran Republic fleet.

"That… could have gone better," Valerian said confidingly. He squeezed Horner's shoulder briefly in a gesture of consolation.

"I don't know how else it could have gone. I told him the bad news; he took it the only way he could. That Admiral Reeves really has him over a barrel."

"I wouldn't take that emotional outburst at face value. He's a zerg now, not a man."

"It seemed real enough to me," Horner said. Valerian had voiced similar sentiments in their meeting about helping Stukov. He had a very dim view of his humanity, and Horner didn't really know why. _Compartmentalizing maybe? If he's not human, then what he did at Skygeirr wasn't really a crime. Or maybe he doesn't want him to ally with us—then he'd have to deal with him. Or Stukov would deal with_ him _instead_. A confrontation between the two was inevitable if an alliance was made.

"Maybe, but it doesn't negate the fact that if he stands against us at Tyrador, his army will be a significant hurdle. Did he include his own battle plans with the Destroyer Fleet's?"

"No, he didn't. That may seem like subterfuge, but he may not have had any prepared yet. I'm sure the UED's plans have they've been in the pipe for months if not years… But if we don't have the jump on them both, we'll have the protoss at our side at least, right?"

"Yes, I spoke to Artanis and Vorazun. Both are willing to pledge troops to our defense… But they're in much the same position as we are. They haven't recovered—and they also don't want to leave their territory vulnerable to attack."

"Something is better than nothing. We'll take what we can get—like you said, we'll need it if Stukov is batting for the other team."

"Yes—and I've… pulled in a favor to even the odds."

"Oh?" Horner said hopefully. Just then he heard a soft shuffling of footfalls somewhere on the bridge. He realized that Valerian wasn't alone when he walked onto the bridge. Horner looked around nervously. He didn't wholly trust Valerian anymore.

"I thought it would be prudent to enlist the help… of a professional." Beside the door to the lift, a shadow turned suddenly lighter, revealing a tall, blonde woman in the gear of a Terran Republic ghost leaning nonchalantly against the wall. She pulled up her goggles and smiled faintly, crossing her arms.

"Nova?"

"Somebody call for an exterminator?"

* * *

Alarak waited impatiently the bridge of the _Wrath of the Ardent_. From the dais of the massive mothership, he surveyed the Death Fleet.

"Ji'nara?" His second, Ji'nara, looked up from her console wearily.

"Still nothing on sensors, Highlord."

Alarak drummed his nails on the railing of the dais.

"What's keeping Stukov? He's almost…" At the far end of the fleet, the _Aleksander_ appeared, dropping out of FTL. Its tentacles unfurled as its momentum canceled. Alarak was disgusted by the sight of it. "Right on time… Hm."

"He's hailing us."

"Open communication." The tainted visage of the infested terran appeared in front of Alarak, projected against the darkness of space. He felt again an instinctual revulsion at his scarred face and the dim psionic light leaking from him, its color indicative of his pollution by the zerg.

"Highlord Alarak, thank you for receiving me…"

"Don't thank me yet…" it took him a moment to decide what to call him, "…terran. Are you ready to come aboard?"

Stukov took a step back, straightening himself and folding his infested arm behind him.

"Of course."

"Ji'nara?" Alarak said without turning.

"Initiating transport."

Stukov disappeared from the bridge of the _Aleksander_ in a flash of light. He reappeared moments later on the bridge of the _Wrath of the_ _Ardent_ , below the image of his own bridge. Ji'nara closed the video feed. Alarak looked down on him from the dais. _What a disgusting husk of a man_ , Alarak thought. _How_ weak _human flesh is that it allows the zerg to defile it so readily._ But he knew Stukov was a special case among the terrans. Something about him allowed him to resist the zerg as Kerrigan had. No one of humankind came close to frightening him except Kerrigan and Stukov and their aberrant mixture of zerg and human flesh and essence. _Their impurity is their strength, as strange as that seems_. He had seen him fight against Amon; he was not a threat to be taken lightly.

"Speak, half-breed. What is it that you wish of me?" If Stukov had even registered the insult, he didn't show it. His posture and expression didn't change.

"I wish to discuss a…" He made a gesture in the air with his gloved, human hand as if reaching for a word, "…mutually beneficial arrangement. My people have recently returned to this sector…"

"Your people?" Alarak said with mild surprise, "Are you referring to the infested or this new ridiculous Terran Republic I've been hearing about? Aren't both of them already here?"

Stukov laughed a short, derisive laugh. "No, I am from Earth. My people are the United Earth Directorate. They are conquerors. They came here many years ago to subdue the zerg and their colonies in the Koprulu sector. That was when I was left here. They needed—and they still need—worlds to live on and room to expand… which I'm sure you can relate to, no?"

Stukov was right. After the Tal'darim abandoned Slayn, they were without a permanent home. They had become a space-faring people, ever increasing the size of the Death Fleet to accommodate their needs.

"Do you dare compare your people to the Tal'darim? Do not insult me. We are nothing like you humans and your bickering over commerce and resources. If you have something to offer, beast, let it be known before my patience with you wears out."

A bemused smirk crossed Stukov's face. He seemed totally unfazed by his remarks despite being at their mercy standing while aboard the _Wrath of the Ardent_. Alarak realized he must have had an escape plan—or he was suicidal.

"With pleasure, Alarak. Your reputation for unpleasantness precedes you. I do not wish to remain here any longer than necessary, believe me. The UED offers, in return for an alliance and assistance subduing the Terran Republic, the Umojan Protectorate, and later the zerg, a homeworld within the boundaries and protection of the Terran Republic or Umojan Protectorate—with the only exceptions of Tarsonis, Umoja, and Korhal IV."

He didn't show it, but Alarak was immediately tempted. His tenure as a leader had made Alarak realize that if his people were to survive, they would need a homeworld and to work more as a people than as a cult. He had abolished Rak'Shir in as much as the challenger had to kill their foe and promoted a return to a more normal life. Still, his people grew restless. They needed a homeworld before they cannibalized each other cooped up in ships wandering space. And the bloodshed necessary to claim a terran world would only make the newfound colony more attractive.

"An interesting offer. And if I were to accept?"

"We attack the Tyrador system in twenty-four Earth-standard hours. There will be a strategy meeting in twelve. If you are interested, I can give you the coordinates."

Alarak felt giddy. It would be a perfect act of revenge to siege and then claim the world on which he had been previously defeated by the Dominion.

"Would the UED be willing to part with Tyrador IX and X as part of our… arrangement?" An emotion passed across Stukov's face, but it was fleeting. His detached amusement returned, but it now had an angry quality that Alarak did not like.

"The UED does not have a particular attachment to any of this sectors' worlds apart from its highest population centers. I'm sure that could be negotiated. Will the Death Fleet stand with us or not, Highlord?"

"Do not rush my decision."

"Alarak," Ji'nara said quietly. "A homeworld…" Ji'nara apparently also felt that the offer Stukov proposed was too good to pass up.

"Silence, Ji'nara!" Stukov chuckled, but his mirth was tinged with loathing—either of him or of himself. Stukov could read between the lines—or could read their thoughts. Alarak was not sure which.

"I'll see you in twelve hours then."

Alarak did not reply but waved his hand at Ji'nara. Stukov chuckled again as the transport engaged, leaving them with an echo of his dark laughter.

"I'm sorry, Highlord… I…" Alarak rounded on her.

"No time for that now, is there? _We_ have a lot of work to do."


	11. Chapter 11: The Plot

Marín couldn't sleep. In the darkness of her quarters, she laid staring at the grey, metallic ceiling above her. She tried to count the rivets to calm her mind, but she kept going back to the battle ahead and the plans, and choices they had made. Marín was still disheartened by their decision to not help Stukov. Asking for help from Artanis and Vorazun would even the odds, but they would need extra time for the evacuations of both Tyrador IX and VIII, and Stukov's help would increase the UED's momentum. Other than the protoss, nothing had really changed on their side. Her fleet had been able to replace what they had lost (and were working to add to the fleet), but the Republic had not—they had lost a lot of their production when Tarsonis was captured. The shadowy Moebius Corp. was the only fleet that had increased its number, pulling resources from somewhere beyond Umojan and Republic territories. Marín had encountered possessed Moebius troops during the End War. Controlled and abandoned by Amon, those who hadn't died had been left to the Void. But Valerian still owned the laboratories and had a majority share in the company. He quietly began recruiting again when the dust settled—another sketchy detail that had been exposed by her government, the Umojans. With such mercurial allies and unpredictable enemies, the battle for the Tyrador system left her uneasy.

Marín looked at the clock on her nightstand. It was three hours before she was due on the bridge. She decided she would go ahead and get up. She slipped quietly out of bed, trying not to disturb Vermaak who slumbered next to her. His sleep was untroubled by worry; he was steadfast in his duty and unquestioning of his orders in a way that she was not. Snoring like the engine of his vulture, he didn't even move as she grabbed a uniform from the cabinet, dressed quietly in the bathroom, grabbed her datapad, and left.

As she neared the lift to the bridge, she found herself going back over Stukov's extraction plan and the information he had included about his son—what he looked like and where he was being held. Stukov had identified a crucial weakness in the carriers which could be exploited in other ways, and even an abortive attempt would have most likely put him on their side. She had toyed with going slightly rogue and assembling a rescue herself with those loyal to her—Ahlberg, Barre, Jansa—but if any of them were lost because of it, she couldn't live with herself. Disobeying Augustin was also something that she was loathe to do.

The night bridge crew greeted her with surprise. She told them that nothing was wrong; she was just going to her office—but then she was distracted by what the bridge crew was watching. Projected holographically was a field of thousands of golden orbs, glistening in the light of Tyrador's distant star.

"Is that the protoss minefield?"

"Yes," a commander on the watch said, "the last few are being set now."

"This is Karax, phasesmith to the Golden Armada. The last mines are away. Initiating shadow mode." The globes disappeared in a wave of gossamer colors as if they had never been there. Marin stood staring, trying to pick them out against the dark of space. But she of course could not. The orbs were undetectable

Marín had always been in awe of the protoss and their technology. Umoja had always been slightly more advanced than the other terran colonies, but the protoss made them all look like Neanderthals. And despite the Olympian task they had undertaken—enclosing both planets with a self-replicating shield of mines—they were ahead of schedule. Marín walked into her office and sat down at her desk, pulling up all the Core Fleet requisitions for the battled ahead. It didn't hurt to make sure that there were no mistakes. She thumbed through them, page by page. But then she stopped; something wasn't right. Among the orders was one for her wraith—and not for her use. She didn't normally even submit a requisition for it; it wasn't even in the normal manifest. The authorization code that had been used was hers, but there was no pilot attached. Her wraith was set to be prepped and launched in thirty minutes—before both she and Jansa were on duty.

Marín activated the comm unit on her desk to see if she could get in touch with the engineer that was slated to oversee the hangar at that time. There was no response. A feeling of foreboding set in, and she wasn't sure why. It was most likely a mistake. A weird one, but a mistake. _Someone missed a digit somewhere—or I did—and the wrong bird was pulled_. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that multiple mistakes would have had to have been made for something like this to happen, which made it very unlikely that it had been an accident.

She called Jansa in her quarters. The comm rang more than a dozen times before Jansa answered. When she did, it was obvious that Marín had woken her. Her light-blond, curly hair that was usually trussed into a tight bun, radiated from her round face like a halo from a medieval Earth painting.

"Do you know what _time_ it is?" Dani said grumpily.

"Is that any way to speak to your commanding officer?" Marín said sarcastically.

"Do you know what time it is, Admiral?"

"That's better… You know anything about someone else needing to fly my wraith?" Dani looked at her drowsily, not really fully comprehending what she was saying."

"No…"

"There's a requisition in for it, and I didn't place it. Will you meet me in the hangar? It's slated to leave in twenty-five minutes."

"What?" She said, still confused. "Okay? I'll… I'll be down there in a minute. I gotta… get on pants."

"Yes, that'd be a good idea. See you in five?"

"Eh. Yeah."

Jansa ended the call. Marín stood to walk to the door, but she hesitated. Thinking better of it, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and took out her stun pistol, affixing it to her belt. She wasn't sure what she would find when she got there, but she didn't want to be caught by surprise.

Marín met Jansa outside the hangar. Jansa hadn't taken the time to pull back her hair. It bobbed as she jogged down the hallway. She finished fastening her coveralls as she stood next to Marín.

"Show me this requisition order." Marín handed Jansa her datapad. Jansa looked at the order. "That's your authorization code. But no pilot? How would you even make an order like that in the database? It shouldn't let you."

"I know. That's what I thought."

Marín and Jansa walked into the hangar bay. It was still early, and so it was eerily quiet.

"Who's on duty right now?" Marín asked.

"Uh, Erik, I think. Let's see who's in the shack."

The shack was what Jansa called her office, which was a large shipping container that she had converted for her use and shared with the other engineers. Jansa entered, followed by Marín. There were shelves lining either side of the windowless room with random parts and scrap stuffed into every inch. Cables hung from above and everything was covered in oil.

"You know, you _could_ get someone to clean in here. We _have_ people who do that."

"I did!" Their camaraderie was interrupted by Jansa's yelp of surprise. On the floor behind her desk was Erik, her night subordinate. He was out cold. Marín checked his pulse.

"He's breathing. His pulse seems fine. He doesn't look injured…"

"I'm going to call a med—"

There was a sudden crash from outside in the hangar. Both women instinctively crouched down lower.

"What was that?" Jansa whispered.

"Do you have a surveillance feed?"

Jansa quietly stepped over Erik and pulled up the hangar's security feed on her console. The perspective flipped a few times before it landed on Marín's wraith. A tall, blonde woman in the uniform of a Terran Republic ghost was preparing to board it. She was stooping over to pick up her rifle and lean it against the wraith again. It must have fallen over. The wraith was not on the path of the launch rack yet and was still resting on its docking supports.

"Who is _that_?"

"No idea. You stay here. I'm going to go find out."

Marin took her pistol from her belt and slowly and quietly made her way out of the shack. She crept towards her wraith, ducking behind liberators, banshees, and tanks while keeping in line of sight of her wraith. Carefully, she inched forward, making sure to keep an eye on the ghost. If she didn't, the woman could cloak and get the best of her. Between them was the rack's deep-set track, yellow "DO NOT STAND" sings on either side of it. The woman continued to place items in the wraith—grenades and other armaments, she realized—until Marín was a few meters from her. She raised her pistol.

"Hands up! Put your hands where I can see them!"

The woman's shoulder's slumped, and she let out an annoyed sigh.

"You Umojans sure are a nuisance."

"I'm going to be a 'nuisance' to anyone who injures my people and tries to steal my bird. Turn around and face me—slowly."

The woman turned. Her goggles were down, but the coldness of her gaze made Marín's stomach flutter.

"Kick the gun towards me…"

The woman deftly touched her rifle with the tip of her boot and pushed it towards Marín. It skipped over the launch rack's grooved path in the floor and slid next to her.

"You're making a mistake," the woman said. "I have an important mission. And I've been ordered to let no one stand in my way—even you, Admiral Marín."

"Why do you need my wraith? How did you get my authorization codes? I need to know _now_."

"I'm sorry. I can't tell you."

Marín felt invisible fingers tightening around her neck. She took a deep breath while she still could and fired at her. The woman tipped Marín's hand at the last moment, and the shot went wide. The ghost angrily stepped forward, tightening her telekinetic grip on Marín's throat and taking her weapon out of her hand. Marín's vision started to tunnel. But then there was a sudden rush of wind and a deafening roar—and the woman and the sensation of being strangled were gone. Marín took in gasping breaths and looked around. The woman was lying in a heap on the floor several meters away. The booster on the launch rack had engaged without the wraith and had hit her. Then the emergency brake had engaged because the hangar door was closed, catapulting the woman down the hangar. She should have been much further away than she had landed. In the seconds before the impact, the woman must have been able to telekinetically slow the rack. Marín heard Jansa's heavy boots pounding the hangar deck as she ran to her.

"That was quick thinking."

"I was just _waiting_ for that bitch to step on that track."

Marín laughed and started coughing. "You call that med team?"

"No…"

"Well, call them now and tell them we need some psi disrupter restraints. Let's get whoever this is patched up and maybe we can get an explanation out of her."

As the med team came in, Jansa directed them around, leaving Marín to sit on the floor and rest. Her neck was badly bruised, and it was still hard for her to breathe. She watched as they loaded the ghost onto a gravsled gurney, restraining her and putting a psi disrupter collar around her neck. A nurse came, scanned Marín's neck, and gave her an injection for pain, telling her she'd be fine. Marín got up, retrieved her datapad from the shack, and followed the gurney to the med bay. Ahlberg, her XO, was waiting outside. His face was flushed as if he had ran all the way there. He had obviously dressed quickly; the asymmetrical zipper on his uniform jacket was unzipped.

"I got a call… You were down…"

"I'm okay, thanks to Dani."

The gurney passed by him as they glided her into the med bay. His eyes widened.

"Is that a Terran Republic ghost?"

"Looks like it."

"They sent her to assassinate you?" Ahlberg said angrily. "Did Horner do this? I'll bet it was Valerian! What do they think they are doing sending…" Marín watched as his blood pressure started to rise, the reddening of his skin even visible under the short-cropped hair at his temples.

"Anders. We have no idea why she's here, and I have no idea what her mission was. And I'm going to need your help finding out." She slapped his broad chest with her datapad. He reflexively caught it. "Go in there and get her prints and run them through the Republic database. I doubt anything will come up, but even a response of 'classified' will tell us whether she was actually working for them or not. I'm going to call Vermaak. I need a shadowguard down here."

"Right!" Ahlberg stomped into the med bay. Marín put her hand to one of the unbroken line of touchscreens that ran along every hallway on Umojan ships. A UI popped up on screen, recognizing her handprint. She opened a comm to her own quarters. A brief thought came to her: _Why did Vermaak not come to the med bay? Surely someone thought to tell him I had been injured_. But maybe not. It was logical to notify her second if she was incapacitated, but not "next of kin." She hadn't died, after all.

Vermaak sleepily answered the call, shirtless and having just rolled out of bed.

"Hello?"

"Hey, uh, there's been an incident down here. I need a shadowguard."

"What? What do you need a shadowguard for?" Vermaak said, his eyes narrowing.

"We had a security breach. There's a Republic ghost down here that was messing with my wraith…" Vermaak looked irritated, which Marín thought was odd. "She attacked me."

"She what?" he exclaimed. _There. That's the right reaction_. He paused for a moment and sighed. "I'll send Baze. Where are you?"

"Med bay. They're working on the ghost right now."

"Okay. I'm coming down there."

"You don't have to…"

"Don't argue with me."

"Fine. I'll see you in a few minutes."

Vermaak started struggling into his uniform as he cut the comm. Marín wandered back into the med bay, questioning the doctor on call about the ghost's status. She learned that she had a few broken ribs and a slight concussion, but that she would be fine in a few moments. As a precaution, they were keeping her heavily sedated. "Baze" arrived soon after. Marín was not familiar with any of the shadowguards on her own vessel, which was by design. She could make requests for their deployment, but they were under Vermaak and Oyaleni's control. Even then, shadowguards would sometimes deny requests from them because of their own internal command structure. No one knew any of them on sight, no one knew their true leader, and no one knew their real names. He appeared in traditional shadowguard garb with a mask and breathing apparatus obscuring his face. She had probably seen him before in the mess, cleaning the deck, _Or, heck, pouring me a pint in the bar. All of them live on the ship, and I have no idea who they are in their "real" lives—if their more mundane lives are their "real" ones._

"Baze?"

"Good morning, Admiral." She shook his hand as he calmly extended it. All of his movements were controlled. He was short but lithe, his presence ominous in his black environment suit. "This is her? The Republic ghost?"

"Well, we're not entirely sure of where she came from, but her uniform would suggest it. I was hoping you could… Get something from her."

"I can try. She's sedated?"

"Yes, and we have a disrupter collar on her."

"You're going to have to take that off… It will disrupt _me_ as well."

"I can't do that…"

"But I can activate her neural inhibitor… Take her down a few notches."

"What's that?"

"The Dominion implanted most ghosts with inhibitors as a way to shut them down if they go AWOL. We don't use them, but we also don't brainwash our operatives, so they… Don't tend to go rogue as often. I can activate and tune it to _try_ and shut down her defenses. We used to do this if we got in range of Dominion ghosts all the time—but you have to get _really_ close."

Marín considered this for a moment. She _was_ unconscious, so it should be okay to take them off.

"Remove the collar please, nurse." Once it was removed, Baze pulled up a chair next to her bed. He removed a small tool from his pocket and placed it against her forehead. It buzzed slightly. The ghost's brow furrowed.

"I've activated the inhibitor. Now, let's take a stroll…" He sat there unmoving for several minutes. Marín didn't know what to do with herself. Could she speak to him? Was she disturbing him? She locked the outside med bay door and ordered the nurses away. Finally, he sat back in the chair. He shook himself briskly, as if waking from a deep sleep.

"Anything?" She said. He sighed.

"This is a dangerous girl. I… Haven't seen someone like this in a long time."

"What do you mean by 'dangerous?'"

"PI of somewhere around ten, more or less."

"What? That's…"

"Extremely high. The highest, actually. Her name is Nova. The mission wasn't about you. Something about the zerg? That's all I've got. Sorry."

"That's better than nothing."

"And you'd better get that collar back on her. That inhibitor won't be enough once she's awake."

"Thanks for the heads up."

"If you need anything else, let me know… And if you end up keeping her around…"

"Yes?"

"I'd like some time with her… Just to see what someone like that… Is like."

"I'm not keeping her on this boat any longer than I have to, sorry."

"Understood."

Baze left quickly. Ahlberg slipped back in through the door as he was leaving. Marín called a nurse in to replace the psi disrupter collar.

"Was that… a shadowguard?"

"Yeah, I thought one might help."

"Did he?"

"Yes and no. You get anything?"

"I confirmed she has a record. It appears to be Dominion, so she's been active a long time. And, of course, it's classified." He returned the datapad to her.

"Sounds like Horner and I need to have a little chat."

"You think he ordered this?"

"No, but he has to at least have known about it." Marín looked at her datapad. The UED fleet was due to attack in thirty minutes. She needed to be on the bridge. "Let's get out of here." Marín told the nurse on duty to call her if Nova awoke.

Just then, Vermaak entered. She waved Ahlberg on.

"Is that the ghost?"

"The one that tried to strangle me? Yeah."

"Strangle you?" Vermaak said, more loudly than he intended. "Are you okay?"

"Some bruises, but you probably can't see them now." Vermaak stroked her neck gently.

"Faintly. They're there. What did she want?"

"My wraith? I don't know what for."

"Why didn't you call me," Vermaak said. "I would have dealt with it. Security here is my concern."

"There wasn't time." For the first time since it happened, Marín allowed herself to be scared. The attack, she realized, would be something that would haunt her. She was used to gunfire, she was used to death, but psionic powers were something that were outside her frame of reference. They were something invisible and unobservable; they were something she felt shouldn't exist like magic or the supernatural. But the fingers around her throat had been as real as if they were Nova's fingers, her flesh-and-blood hand at her throat. Noticing her fear, Vermaak pulled her in and held her.

"You're fine. You and Jansa handled it. But…" _There's always the "but,"_ Marín thought. "You need to quit going off on your own. You're the commander of the Core Fleet. People depend on you. You can't go off in your wraith or walk right up to a ghost. Let your people handle it. That's what we're here for." She pushed him gently away.

"I had no idea there would be a Terran Republic ghost waiting for me in the hangar bay. That wasn't me 'going off on my own.'"

"I know. But you worry me."

"And I worry about you. And you're right. I have people depending on me. I need to be on the bridge right now, actually."

"Yep. Next time someone tries to requisition your wraith, you'll talk to me, okay?"

"Yes, fine." She squeezed his hand, "I'll see you later."

Marín left and headed towards the bridge. The UED would appear soon, but she needed to talk to Horner. Something nagged her as she entered the lift to the bridge. _"Next time someone tries to requisition your wraith…" Did I tell him that? I don't remember_. _I must have_ , she thought.

As she walked onto the bridge, she felt ready to confront Horner.

"Barre, get me the Hyperion."

"Aye."

"Oh, please bite his head off. Please, Admiral. That's something I need to see," Ahlberg said from the other side of the bridge. She shushed him.

Matt Horner's face appeared above the holographic war table.

"Admiral Marín, what can I do for you?"

Keeping her face as neutral as possible, she began her interrogation. "You could answer some questions. Do you know a ghost… By the name of Nova? I believe she's one of yours?" Horner went white and suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "That's what I thought. What were her orders?"

"I'm… Not at liberty to say…"

Marín could feel the anger rising in her. She had a lot of respect for Horner, but she had no time for him hiding behind whatever security the Terran Republic had hiding this mission.

"You're the president-in-exile of the Terran Republic. If you're _not_ at 'liberty,' then who is? Is Valerian who's really in charge of the Republic's fleet? Wait, you know what? It doesn't really matter. Because both of you are in a lot of trouble. Your ghost assaulted a flag officer, which makes you in violation of our treaty."

The bridge crew started murmuring behind her. Barre looked on with rapt attention. _He's always been a gossip. He'll get out the popcorn in a minute_.

"What? Who?" Horner shouted, panicked.

"Me! You sent her here to _steal_ my _wraith_ and you didn't think I'd figure it out? What the _hell_ do you want with it, anyway?"

"The mission… It didn't involve you; you weren't the target. You have the last working wraith in the fleet, and that's what Nova needed for the mission…"

"What mission?"

"To… Eliminate Stukov."

"You can't help him, but you'll kill him? How was she going to do that?"

"Nova… Was going to use your wraith to get close to his vessel if he got past the minefield. Moebius's techs figured out how Stukov was seeing through our cloaking technology. She… made some modifications to it... Even without them, after your meeting with him, Nova thought she could bluff her way onboard… Her mission was to get on the _Aleksander_ and take him out. With the new cloaking system and her abilities, he wouldn't have known what hit him."

"So, not only were you going to have her use my wraith, but you were also going to have her impersonate me and squander what good will I had been able to build with Admiral Stukov?"

"I wouldn't… put it that way… Look, it wasn't my idea."

"If it wasn't, does she work for the Terran Republic or Moebius?"

"Neither. Both? Mostly Valerian."

"Well, that explains a lot. I could think of a thousand better uses for a ghost _that_ powerful…"

As she said it, half of an idea came to her.

"Look, I'll recall and reprimand her. I admit… Valerian's getting a bit out of hand."

"No, she's staying here until she can answer for her crimes. And she's in no shape to go anywhere anyway. We'll discuss the ramifications of Valerian's actions when we're _not_ about to battle the UED. And the next time you two rub what few braincells you have together and come up with something _stupid_ like that again, _maybe_ inform your allies, okay? Marín out."

She made a motion across her throat for Barre to end the transmission. Ahlberg started clapping slowly.

"That's just like the Dominion… I mean the Terran Republic. Just do whatever they want whenever they want and deal with the consequences later."

"We'll just have to remember that when it's our turn," Marín said.

"We got that on video, right? I mean, on the bridge recorder?" Barre said.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna watch that again later. Maybe do an edit…"

"Please don't. Okay, enough. How much time's on the clock?"

"Ten minutes."

"Get us a visual, Barre."

The visual feed above the war table changed to that of the "minefield" outside, hidden from view, and the protoss fleet sitting just behind it. Beside them was the combined might of Moebius, the Terran Republic, and the Umojan Protectorate. For the first time, she felt as though they had a chance. And if they successfully defended the Tyrador system, they could push the fleet back to Tarsonis, cut off their supply chains, and force them to surrender there.

She addressed the fleet as she always did, and let the clock run down. Right on schedule, UED ships began slamming into view on the other side of the minefield as they dropped out of FTL. Karax had positioned them in such a way that getting any closer in FTL would be perilous because of the two planets' gravity wells. Beside them, bloated leviathans appeared, and the flying monsters of the zerg. She knew that among the battlecruisers, infested ships, and leviathans was the _Aleksander._ And just hours ago, they had been discussing a peaceful accord. But once again, they were on opposite sides of the conflict.

"Hold, everyone. Wait until they've entered the minefield."

The UED ships first started striking the mines. A few battlecruisers were taken out. A science vessel tried to EMP a small area but ended up EMPing a few of his compatriots—the ships were too packed together for EMP to work effectively and any mines struck by a EMP were replaced through replication by a neighbor. The zerg units held back, as if considering their options. _Or waiting for something_.

Another vessel, large and dark, dropped out of FTL. Its black hull and the clutter of UED ships around it made it take her a few moments to recognize it—the vessel was a Tal'darim mothership.

"The Tal'darim?"

Gasps of horrified surprise echoed across the bridge. At the same time, Tal'darim interceptors began launching from the mothership, creating a cloud of destruction in the minefield. The rest of the Tal'darim fleet, starting with void rays, began warping in behind the mothership. And then, suddenly, the Mothership was gone. All at once, the _Uhuru_ 's visual field changed.

"Barre, what am I looking at—,"she said, then realized what the red glow that was taking up the entire holographic image was: the underbelly of the Tal'darim mothership. "They blinked right on top of us! Get us out of here!" Proximity klaxons began ringing, and liberators started screaming by chasing the Tal'darim interceptors. "Fall back!" As the _Uhuru_ backed away, Marín's hope for Tyrador began to fade.


	12. Chapter 12: Tyrador

From the observation deck of the _Aleksander,_ Stukov spread his infestation towards the minefield. As the pestilence found the mines, he felt the familiar foreignness of the protoss in his mind. When he infested a terran structure, there was biomass in it that he could sense and build on. Bacteria, mold, fungus, and the bio-electric circuitry that made up the low-level AI that inhabited most of their tech allowed him to seep in, infect, and take control, weaving tendrils around it and manipulating it to his will. Protoss technology was monolithic. There were no seams, and the metal they used was non-porous and sterile with few imperfections on which monocellular organisms could hide. Each mine in the vast field before him—that he could not see but he knew was there—he had to grope for in the dark with his infestation. Landing on it, penetrating each mine was like grabbing hold of a mollusk and trying to crush it open with a bare hand. Even then, he could only hold them for a while, enough to cause them to be visible and to stop nearby ones from replicating. But it was enough. Alarak saw what he was doing and capitalized on it, quickly dispatching any that suddenly appeared with either his mothership's interceptors or his destroyers. Soon, the gap was wide enough for Stukov and Alarak's fleets to move through.

But Alarak did not have to wait for Stukov or his own fleet. He watched from the observation deck of the _Aleksander_ as the Tal'Darim mothership, the _Wrath of the Ardent_ , disappeared from beside his leviathans and reappeared in the middle of the Umojan fleet. He felt a wave of panic and remorse. It was the Umojan admiral that had met with him and wanted to help, _And now I may have consigned her to death_. He was responsible for the Tal'Darim entering the conflict, but he had no way of knowing that the strategy Artanis would employ would be so easily circumvented by the combination of his and Alarak's forces.

Some of the UED fleet was able to join them, but the gap in the minefield was not large enough for the carriers to pass. Reeves had been too eager, in fact, and had already lost one of his carriers to the minefield, moving it too far forward of the UED line before anyone knew what their defenses were.

 _Careless_ , Stukov thought, _letting his bravado get the better of him_. It was not a mistake he would have made, and he was glad that he had told Reeves to keep the _Kuznetsov_ off the front lines. It had spared Reeves's life, but also his son's.

But he had made a mistake, and for it he had been punished. Reeves had been furious when he learned Stukov had offered Tyrador as the prize for helping subjugate the Koprulu sector. He had been advised to offer them any territory other than Korhal, Tarsonis, or Umoja, but Reeves had apparently thought Tyrador was too valuable as well. As such, he refused to let him see his son. _What does he care anyway? He will go back on his promise. When Alarak has ceased being useful, Reeves will turn on him—as he will eventually me_. _Alarak has as much chance keeping Tyrador as I do my life_. Stukov knew that the incident had been just an excuse to keep him submissive—and to flaunt Reeves's authority over him before Alarak, so that Alarak knew who was "really" in charge.

The bulk of the black Tal'darim ships formed a line with the _Wrath of the Ardent_ to engage the Umojan and Terran Republic fleet. But there were also other ships bearing markings with which he was all too familiar: Moebius Corp. He was startled by their appearance; he thought that they had been destroyed. He reasoned that the Terran Republic had repurposed their ships without having time to slap on a fresh coat of paint. _But that doesn't mean I can't engage in some catharsis blasting them out of orbit_. Stukov maneuvered his fleet around them, separating them from the rest of the fleet to annihilate them with his infested liberators and mutalisks.

But he couldn't let himself get distracted from his true strategy: to land his troops on both planets first before Alarak's ascendants could begin tearing their way through the population of each planets' major cities. It would be a mental and physical strain for him, dividing his attention, but it would have to be done. Alarak cared little for human life, and less for human life that was in the way of his people's prosperity. _Tarsonis all over again, except with the protoss at my back._

He looked out over the twin planets ahead of him. The larger, Tyrador IX further away and the smaller, less populous Tyrador VIII closer, its cities glowing in the twilight of space. Stukov opened his mind to his brood. Izsha promptly answered him aboard Kerrigan's leviathan. He could feel her almost-human mind signaling her readiness to descend to Tyrador VIII to supervise the invasion there.

Abathur was onboard the leviathan as well, but he made Stukov wait. Before coming here, Stukov had asked Abathur for a great deal and now he was sulking. The two of them got along well enough, but Abathur wanted mainly to be left alone to improve the Swarm—not make weapons of war. He finally signaled his readiness.

The leviathans divided, positioning over each planet's seas. Both planets had vast oceans, and he planned to use that to his advantage. There were no defenses there to alert the armies to their presence, and no one would expect an invasion from that direction. Once in position, the leviathans dropped all his troops—drones, SCVs, the infested—silently into the waves. This had been what he had Abathur working on—advantageous modifications that allowed the infested and his zerg units to move quickly underwater, and for his nydus canals to work there as well. Barracks and command centers were now busily being built in the shallows of both planets' main harbors. The infested began walking swiftly along the bottom of the ocean, up the breakers and onto the shore. Ironically, he realized, it would have been a nice day to be at the beach on Tyrador IX.

From above, he watched the evacuation efforts. New Canaan and Escalero were both large metropolises, and like Tarsonis City, evacuating them completely was most likely impossible. And now with an accelerated timetable courtesy of the Tal'darim, they would have less time to do it. Making note of their rendezvous points on the outskirts of each city, he bent the rising tide of his infested to maneuver around them and to engage military targets.

The Terran Republic military was on the ground in both cities in force. They had learned from the last battle and had invested mostly in banshees and siege tanks. But his numbers were too many, and they had guessed incorrectly the direction from which his forces would appear. From above, Umojan shadowguards and marines began shooting down at his infested troops as they marched towards the center of the city. In response, he summoned one of his large ultralisks, using it to push one of the buildings over, causing a domino effect. As it crashed into the building next to it and that building fell on their line, the Terran Republic's troops began to retreat. Another squadron of banshees moved in. Stukov moved his own liberators and banshees in to engage them, and then unleashed his infestation. It was a scare tactic; he wanted to push as many civilians out of the city before Alarak could touch down.

He reached out to his units still in space. Artanis had positioned his carriers between the _Wrath of the Ardent_ and the Umojan line. The UED carriers were still behind the minefield, but most of their smaller units had penetrated it. The Umojans and Artanis were slowing him down, but the _Wrath of the Ardent_ was still advancing incrementally towards Tyrandor IX. Stukov assessed the situation in Escalero and New Canaan. He was making good progress, but some people were stupidly stubborn, trying to hide out in buildings with their valuables instead of leaving. But this would not be like Tarsonis City. There was not a _human_ army incoming, but an army of militant, blood-thirsty protoss. Stukov only hoped that the hordes of his "zombie" thralls would be enough to convince them their houses and possessions were not worth their lives before the protoss were planetside.

* * *

The visual feed from the bridge of the _Uhuru_ still showed the underbelly of the _Wrath of the Ardent_ as they backed away and out of range of their interceptors. Liberators screamed by, trying to deal with the small, swift fighters. The deck of the bridge began to tremble under Marín's feet.

"What is…" Marín began. But it became apparent immediately where the noise was coming from. Below the _Uhuru,_ the _Spear of Adun_ lumbered towards the _Wrath of the Ardent_ , flanked by a mass of protoss carriers.

"Incoming transmission from the _Spear of Adun_ , Admiral."

"Put it on screen, Barre."

Artanis appeared with Vorazun in the background. Vorazun yelled something she could not make out over the comm to their troops. Artanis began to speak.

"This is our folly, Admiral, and _our_ wayward brethren. We should be the ones to engage them! Let us take on the _Wrath of the Ardent_!"

"Artanis…" Marín said, beginning to protest. But he had already turned away and was ordering his people to protect the Umojan fleet. An explosion shook the _Spear of Adun_ and they lost the visual feed.

"The _Vrede_ is hailing us," Barre said.

"Open a channel."

Augustin's face appeared on the screen.

"Marín. The _Vrede_ has taken heavy damage. We're adrift here, but not in immediate danger thanks to Artanis. I have new orders for you. I can keep an eye on the situation here and use the Edge Fleet to assist the Daelaam, but I need someone to keep as many vessels from reaching Tyrador VIII and Tyrador IX as possible."

"If you're adrift, you need evac…"

"I have it in hand. We can get the damage repaired in time. Close the gap, Marín."

"Yes, sir."

The channel closed and Marín pulled the fleet's movements up on the war table. With her hand, she sketched out each battlecruiser's new position as well as the new movements for each liberator and banshee squadron. She quickly sent them on.

"Patch me through to the fleet, Barre."

"Aye."

"As most of you are likely aware, the Tal'darim have joined the fight against us here at Tyrador. Thankfully, the Daelaam have stepped up to challenge them along with the Edge Fleet. Our orders now are to impede the UED from moving beyond the minefield and towards Tyrador IX and VIII. New orders are incoming. Good luck to you all."

Marín turned back towards her crew. She was loathe to leave the rest of the fleet with the _Wrath of the Ardent_ and the Daelaam, especially with the _Vrede_ disabled.

"Take us out, Ahlberg."

"Yes, ma'am."

Marín watched as the view from the bridge changed. The _Uhuru_ banked away from the giant carriers and motherships of the protoss and towards the UED fleet, which was kept at bay by the invisible mine field. The only indication of the hole in the minefield was the faint green fog of infestation and small explosions caused by the destroyers targeting newly replicated mines. Ships slipped through intermittently, but the gap never widened enough for the UED carriers to slip through.

 _Well that's one thing less to worry about_.

The infestation was a problem though. If they got too near, it would affect them, and they couldn't directly target it. But it didn't look as though it could keep the gap open on its own.

"Ahlberg, tell the fleet to focus on the destroyers. If we can draw their focus or take them down, the gap will narrow. And tell them to keep away from the infestation!"

Ahlberg busied himself with tapping out messages and talking to the fleet on his headset.

"The infirmary reports that, uh, 'Nova' is awake and is asking to speak to you," Barre said.

Marín took a deep breath. The ghost was finally awake, but her timing was awful. Then again, the _Uhuru_ was not in any immediate danger. She could perhaps risk going down to try to persuade her.

Ahlberg watched her, knowing what she was thinking.

"Go talk to her. I've got it handled up here."

"What?"

"Whatever you're going to do, do it. We trust you. Go."

Marín hesitated for a moment.

"Pull Gavran back. I may need him."

"Aye," Ahlberg said, not questioning the order.

When Marín entered the infirmary, Nova was propped up on her medical bed, restraints on both her arms and legs and the disrupter collar around her neck. She glowered at Marín as she entered. Marín ignored her and sat down in the chair beside her bed.

"It's Nova, right? I don't think we've been properly introduced."

"I demand that you contact my superiors. If they know what you've done…"

"I already have, I'm afraid. Admiral Horner is distancing himself from your mission—and from Valerian—whom I'd like to add has _no_ jurisdiction here _or_ in the Terran Republic fleet."

Nova's eyes narrowed at her, giving her an icy blue stare.

"I don't believe you."

"Well, I'm here and they're not. And you're going to stay here for the duration of this conflict or until this ship is destroyed. If we survive, I will deliver you to the proper Umojan authorities to answer to the charges of assaulting a flag officer and attempted theft of the property of the Umojan government."

"This is ridiculous. My orders were to assassinate Stukov. I need to continue my mission."

"I can't let you do that."

"Are you crazy? That half-zerg… _thing_ is out there infesting _your own troops_ and you won't let me borrow your ship to go and neutralize him?"

"Did they tell you why he's on the side of the UED?"

"He _is_ UED!"

"I'll take that as a no. Stukov is being blackmailed into working for the Directorate. He came to us for help, and we denied him."

"So? Why would we help the zerg or the Directorate or whatever this monster is? If Valerian called me in to take out the trash, he had a good reason."

Marín sighed and released one of Nova's wrist restraints. She pressed her datapad into her hand. On it was the information Stukov had provided about his son. Nova eyed the datapad suspiciously.

"What am I looking at?"

"That's Stukov's son. He's a ghost serving in the UED fleet. They've taken him hostage. _That_ is how they're blackmailing Stukov."

"He's a ghost?"

"Yes."

"He looks… young."

"He is."

Nova was quiet for a moment. Marín thought that maybe she was getting through to her.

"Does he… remember him?"

"Yes."

Nova was silent again, thumbing through the report. She gave Marín a sideways glance.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I want to make a deal with you."

"What?"

"I'll drop the charges against you—I _am_ the one, after all, who would have to bring them—if you will carry out an… alternate mission for me."

"And what is that?"

"Instead of boarding the _Aleksander_ , we're going to board the _Kuznetsov_ —and get that kid off of it."

Nova put the datapad down quickly, slapping her leg with it in the process.

"Are you crazy? That would be much more dangerous than killing Stukov. I'm _not_ doing that. The simplest thing is to eliminate the real problem, not try to negotiate with it."

Marín stood to leave.

"Suit yourself then. Rot in jail for… I don't know… A decade? I think that's the minimum sentence you would get for those crimes…"

Nova sighed.

"Just give me the wraith and I'll do it myself. There's no reason for _you_ to get involved."

"Yes, there is. I don't trust you. If I gave you my wraith, you'd just go and complete your mission. With me, you'll have to do what I say. And you can't tell me you don't want to help that kid. A ghost—like you—that's in over his head due to no fault of his own."

Nova looked at the dossier again as it laid in her lap. She sighed.

"Fine. But when we get aboard that ship, you listen to _me_ got it?"

"You're the infiltration specialist."

Marín let her out of her restraints but waited to remove the collar. She hoped that she was making the right decision. She remembered what Vermaak had said to her. _But these are desperate times. I have to do something_.

Marín escorted Nova to the hangar bay, where Capt. Gavran was waiting, his liberator ready for takeoff. Gavran gave a half-hearted salute without getting up, knowing Marín didn't care, but also knowing he should show some respect. Marín greeted him. Gavran was one of the _Uhuru's_ best pilots. He'd survived many battles, and he looked the part. He was a weathered-looking man with slicked-back black hair—and the kind of person who looked tired and rumpled no matter what time of day it was.

"So, uh, orders didn't say where we were going…"

"We'll talk about that once we're out," Marín said, slipping into the navigator's seat. One of his thick eyebrows raised as Nova came aboard. She ignored him as he turned back over the pilot's seat to watch her sit down in the back.

"Oh, well, hello there."

"Eyes on your instruments, please."

He turned back slowly, chuckling, and closed the hatch. Gavran got clearance to leave. Looking out of the hanger, Marín realized their mission would be much more dangerous than it appeared from the bridge of the _Uhuru_. The space around them was thick with Tal'darim, zerg, and UED units. Marín felt suddenly selfish. Was it too much of a risk? Was this worth it? To his credit, Gavran was nonplussed by the sight outside, despite Marín most likely having a longer service record. _But his life is his own. I'm responsible for both of them—that's the difference_. The ship glided forward and out of the ship.

"Where to, Admiral?"

"Not sure. I'm looking for a vessel—a UED vessel."

"What kind?"

"A shuttle," Marín said, using the navigation console to scan the area. "From the _Kuznetsov._ We're going to find and follow one."

"Okay, you're the boss."

Gavran banked out of the _Uhuru_ in a way that almost threw Marín out of her seat and continued to recklessly pilot his way towards the minefield. But there was a reason for his quick movements. It was not as easy for enemy ships to get a target lock on him. He wound his way through the Core Fleet line, dodging Tal'darim ships and trying to keep out of the way of other liberators. They got as close to the gap in the minefield as they could, and Gavran tried not to stay in any one place very long.

Marín scanned the area. Moments went by. Medivac ships, wraiths—still in use by the UED—their version of the liberator, and several battlecruisers went by. Finally, a shuttle that Marín tracked back to the _Kusnetsov_ came near.

"That one. Follow it."

"Yes, ma'am."

Gavran shadowed the vessel, not keeping close to it, but keeping it within scanner range. As they followed it past the _Edge Fleet_ 's line, they had a few close calls with Tal'darim interceptors. Interceptors—both Tal'darim and Daelaam—battled fiercely against one another with a quickness that was hard to watch for very long. The _Vrede_ , still adrift, began listing in space. An arbitor, noticing its plight, nudged it with its beam, trying to tractor it away from the fighting. It was not very successful. Streams of both infested terran and UED vessels trickled past, engaged now and then by Umojan and Republic vessels. And in the background were the two planets, zerg units hovering above them.

The shuttle turned towards Tyrador IX. As they came in closer, Marín took note of the bifurcation of the zerg and UED troops. The zerg were coming to the fight from the ocean, and the UED were taking the brunt of the attacks from Tyrador IX's defenses. Waves of UED vessels were entering Tyrador IX's airspace.

"Looks like they're going in for a landing," Gavran said.

"Good. Wait for them to takeoff again. I don't want to deal with the marines that were aboard—I just want the ship."

"You never told me what you were going to do…" Gavran began, giving Marín a sideways glance.

"And I'm not going to. Plausible deniability." Marín watched the shuttle on the scanner. It started to move, beginning its ascent. "They're taking off again. Follow them."

"Yes, Admiral," Gavran said, sighing.

The liberator banked towards the Directorate craft. The pilot of the shuttle finally saw them and began evasive maneuvers.

"Keep on them. Force them to land. Fire on them if you have to."

"What? Land? Why?"

"Just do it!"

Gavran aggressively tailed the vessel, firing above them, forcing them back into Tyrador IX's atmosphere. The shuttle banked and swerved, trying to lose them, but Gavran kept behind and above them, keeping the shuttle from using its upward thrusters to bank out of the atmosphere. Finally, it looked like the crew was going to ditch the shuttle out of desperation.

The shuttle landed, and Gavran set the liberator down a few meters behind them. Marín and Nova jumped out of the shuttle.

"What are you _doing_?" He yelled after them.

"We're commandeering the shuttle. Go! Get out of here!" Marín waved him off.

"You are crazy! You can't…" Gavran fumbled around in the cockpit for his sidepiece. "Where did I put that fucking…" Finally finding it under his chair, he stumbled out after them.

A tall blonde woman in a UED uniform charged out of the shuttle, firing a pistol. Marín flattened herself against the shuttle and fired back. Gavran ducked back into the small craft, swearing. Nova disappeared. Marín heard a single footfall, and the woman was knocked off her feet. Another woman, smaller with mousey brown hair, exited cautiously.

"KD!" She yelled, seeing her friend on the ground. Nova appeared, and making a motion with her hand, threw her violently back into the shuttle. Marín holstered her pistol and made her way over to Nova. Gavran followed.

"What are you going to do with that shuttle? Go back to the Directorate line? Why?"

"I'm not going to tell you, Gavran. If this goes awry, I don't want you to have been a direct part of it."

"Well, I already am! I'm going with you."

"No," Marín said forcefully, "Goddamn it, Gavran, no. Get back in your ship and get _out of here_. I won't let you risk your life while I do something stupid. I've already put you in danger. Go back."

"I don't care about the 'risk,' I'm a goddamn…"

"That's an order."

Gavran hesitated.

"We're wasting time," Nova said, annoyed.

"Let's go then."

Marín picked KD up by the ankles and helped Nova put her in the shuttle. On the floor of the ship, the other woman groaned and began trying to get up. Nova pointed her rifle at her.

"What? Who're…"

"Congratulations. You're the first POWs of the Terran Republic."

"Uh, Umojan Protectorate, technically," Marín said, closing the hatch.

"Whatever."

Marín jumped into the shuttle pilot's seat. The controls were almost the same as an Umojan vessel, but there were more tactile instead of a seamless, flat display. She quickly found the ignition and launch sequence. Gavran came to the front of the shuttle, staring her down through the cockpit window disapprovingly. Marín didn't make eye contact.

"Get strapped in," she said to Nova.

"Where are you taking us?" The woman said.

"Back to the _Kuznetsov_. You have something we want. And while we're on the subject, I'm going to need your uniform."

"Why do you—"

Nova pointed her gun at her again.

"O-okay. Whatever you say."

The woman began unbuttoning her uniform jacket. Nova kept a close eye on her as she did.

"So, do you have any interior schematics for the _Kuznetsov_? How are we going to get to the brig?"

"The brig?" The woman said.

"Shut up," Nova said, barely acknowledging her.

"Yes, they were included with Stukov's original plan."

"Stukov!" She said, interrupting again.

"Quiet down, kid. Adults are talking."

The woman ignored her.

"Is this about Greg Stukov?"

Marín almost veered off course with surprise.

"What did you just say?"

"The ghost. Stukov's kid."

"Who are you? How do you _know_ about that?" Marín shouted, trying to regain her composure.

"I'm… Carolyn Dauphin. KD and I were on the shuttle that docked with the _Aleksander_ … Are you going to rescue Greg?"

"We're going to take him back to my ship, yes."

"Then we'll help you. Or I will. You'll have to ask KD when she wakes up."

"Why?" Nova said suspiciously.

Dauphin shuddered.

"Because I saw… I saw what my commander is really like. I saw him put a gun to that kid's head, and… I'm pretty sure if you don't do something, he's dead."

"What?" Marín said. That was something that had not been included in Stukov's report. It was an unnecessary detail but was something that she would have liked to have known. If Reeves was unstable, or if he had threatened his life personally, that changed the situation. _The situation is direr than I thought it was._ Marín tried to imagine a situation in which she or Augustin would threaten someone directly like that, and she couldn't think of one. Reeves must have been unhinged.

"And, uh, you may get more than you bargained for with him… He… may not want to go with you so, uh, just be ready for that… And he's a teek, if you didn't know that…"

"A teek? What's his PI?" It was Nova's turn to be surprised.

"PI? No idea. But he scared the shit out of me busting out some lights in the brig…"

"You think you can handle that, Nova?"

"Are you fucking kidding? Of course I can."

"Well, okay then."

Dauphin threw her uniform on the floor. Marín struggled out of hers and threw it to Dauphin.

"Here kid, you're an Umojan admiral for a day."

"Oh. Great."

Marín pulled the uniform on. It fit, but barely. The pants were too long, and the jacket was almost too tight in the bust. _I'm just glad the flight crew happened to be female. I could have worn a man's uniform, but it would have looked out of place._ Dauphin put on the pants and undershirt but didn't bother with the jacket.

Marín fell in with a squadron of UED liberators and let them escort her through the minefield and towards the _Kuznetsov._ Their tower radioed them. Marín beckoned for Dauphin to answer. They were given an approach vector and a docking berth.

As they landed, Dauphin attempted to wake KD. She awoke in a frenzy. Unable to calm her, Nova knocked her out telepathically. Nova looked at Dauphin.

"You want to be knocked out or tied up?"

"Uh, neither?"

"Dealer's choice then."

Nova knocked her out and she slumped to the floor.

"How long will they be out?"

"Couple of hours. Should be plenty of time."

Marín didn't like how they were improvising this mission, but she didn't see another option. With the Tal'darim working against them, they needed something to give them an edge.

"Okay, its your game now.

"Damn right it is. Listen up..."

Nova directed Marín to stay out of sight as she cloaked and opened the hatch. The hangar was chaos, but there was no one that was seemingly looking for them or had another mission for Dauphin or KD.

 _Coast is as clear as it will be_ , Nova said, broadcasting her thoughts. Marín felt uneasy at the thought of Nova in her mind. With Stukov it had been frightening and eerie, but with Nova it was cold and calculating—and overbearing. Stukov had been a whisper, Nova was stern and insistent with the implication behind her voice that she could melt her mind at any time.

Marín stepped out of the shuttle as confidently as possible in her too-long, tight uniform.

 _Which elevator?_

"The far one," Marín said.

 _Don't answer out loud!_

 _Sorry_.

The two of them walked towards the elevator.

 _Don't get on. There's someone behind us that wants on it._

Marín leaned against the wall beside the elevator, trying to look nonchalant. The door to the elevator opened and it emptied out into the hangar. The man behind them took the elevator and Marín hit the call button again.

 _Okay, there are people on it, but they're all going to get off here. You can get on this time._

Marín got on the elevator and held the door a few seconds. She felt Nova edge past her. Marín punched the number for the brig's level.

"So far so good," Marín said.

 _We've been here a total of thirty seconds. Don't relax._

Marín internally wondered if all ghosts were like this. _None of them probably have_ any _social skills_.

 _I can hear that; you know that, right?_

 _Oh. Right. Sorry._

The door opened on the level for the brig. Marín walked out, trying not to make eye contact with anyone on the level. A man passed in a tattered ghost uniform.

 _Don't even breathe_.

Marín thought of a song, this time from _Die Zauberflote_. He passed without looking at either of them. Marín wanted to look back at him but didn't.

They arrived at the brig without incident, but Nova ordered Marín to stop.

 _There are guards inside. Wait here_.

When the door opened and no one was there to trigger it, the guard at the reception desk stood. His compatriots guarding the door into the cell block also moved forward. As the door slid closed, Marín heard several heavy thuds. The door opened again, and Marín cautiously went through. The cell block door opened seemingly on its own, and Marín stepped through it, following Nova. The prisoners there—mostly Terran Republic marines—eyed her as she walked past.

 _Just ignore them. There are two more guards up ahead. Hang back, and I'll deal with them_.

Marín thought briefly about releasing all of them. It would cause chaos, but they would likely be killed.

 _And we won't get out of here if you do_. _They'll know someone was in the brig, and they'll come looking for Stukov's son. They'll put the hangar on lockdown, and we'll be fucked._

Marín reluctantly agreed.

The two guards were standing right in front of Gregory's cell. He was sleeping or resting on the cot inside in a fetal position, his back to the main hallway. Neither guard had time to register what was going on. But both fell heavily to the ground, their weapons clattering on the hard floor. Gregory lifted his head and rolled over, looking at Marín in the hallway. He blinked at her.

"Who are you?"

Nova decloaked beside her.

"We've come to get you out, kid," Nova said.

"What?" He said, confused.

"Your father wants you out of here. We're here to…"

"No," Gregory said, the forcefulness of his voice causing a telekinetic echo that pushed Marín back a step. _Oh, this is bad._

 _I can_ handle _it_.

Nova took down the forcefield with a keycard she had stolen from one of the guards. She walked into the cell. Gregory ripped the cot off the wall with his telekinetic powers and flung it at Nova. She ducked, and Marín hit the ground, cursing.

"You want to alert the whole ship?" Marín exclaimed.

"Not bad, kid. What's your PI? 8?"

"None of your business."

"Doesn't matter anyway. Mine's higher."

Nova picked Gregory up telekinetically and flew him up the wall to the ceiling. Gregory fought against her bringing himself down a half a meter. It seemed to tire him, but Nova was undeterred.

"You're coming with us whether you want to or not."

"We'll see about… that…" Gregory said, struggling.

Dauphin had told Marín that he would not come quietly, but she hadn't expected this. How would they get him out now if he was going to fight them all the way to the hangar bay? Marín smelled something electric or hot—like ozone. The gun on Nova's back was turning red with heat. Nova yelped, releasing Gregory and throwing her gun away. She lost her grip on Gregory. He hit the ground and rolled to a crouch, disappearing.

"Goddamn it."

"I thought you said you could handle it," Marín said.

"I _can_! Give me a minute. Go to the cell block entrance. Keep him from leaving!"

"Right!"

Marín jogged back to the door and stationed herself in front of it, readying her pistol. She heard a thud and an invisible figure flew through the air with a shimmer of distortion. She had no idea which one of them it was until it landed with a masculine grunt.

"I'm going to rip your balls off, you little shit!"

 _I don't think she's empathizing with him as much as I'd hoped._

 _Damn right I'm not! Fucker._

There was more scurrying, but it was far away. Marín flattened herself against the door. She heard nothing but silence.

"Where _is_ he?"

"How the hell should I know?" Marín yelled.

Marín felt a hand on her wrist. She whipped her arm away and snaked her elbow out in a high arc, trying to catch him in the face. She managed to pop him in the mouth. He yelled something she didn't understand in surprise and pain, but ripped her gun out of her hand and turned it on her, becoming visible again.

"Marín!" Nova yelled as she rounded the corner. Gregory pulled Marín around, the gun still on her, putting her between him and Nova.

"Don't come any closer!"  
"Kid, you need to calm down," Marín said.

"No! I will not _calm down_. You are _not_ taking me _back_ to that _thing_."

"Thing?"

Just then, the door behind them opened.

"Gregory Stukov!"

Gregory turned. The haggard-looking ghost entered.

"Shin… Thank god. I was just…"

"Put the gun down, Greg."

"What?"

"I said, put it down."

After a moment, Gregory complied.

"You will go with these women, Greg. You will get off this ship, and you will live. Because if you stay here, you will die."

"I will _not_ betray the UED!"

"You won't? Because I already have. When I saw what Reeves was willing to do to you and learned what he had planned for your family, I immediately contacted your sister in Central Intelligence. She and the rest of your family are probably halfway to Gantris by now."

Shin pulled a small data cache from his pocket and held it out to Marín.

"Here. Take this. It has the comm buoy codes and any updated fleet information I could find."

"Shin!" Gregory said desperately.

"Enough! You will _go_ and that's an _order_."

For a moment, it looked as though Gregory had resigned himself to going with them. But then he unleashed a barrage of telekinetic fury at Nova, throwing her into the hallway.

"Sleep!" Shin said firmly.

And with a motion of his hand, Shin brought Gregory down. He crumpled to the floor. Nova picked herself up.

"Who are you? Why are you helping us?" Marín said.

"Let's just say I'm an old friend of the family. If Admiral Stukov hadn't stuck his neck out for me many years ago, I would not be the man I am now, my memories and position intact. If not for his daughter, I would be disgraced and Gregory would have been brain-panned years ago."

"Returning the favor then," she said.

"Yes, that you could say."

"Now how are we going to get him out of here?" Marín said.

Nova shrugged, pulled him up by the arm and draped him over her shoulder. She engaged his cloak and then her own. They both disappeared. Marín groaned.

"I don't like this at all."

"I will walk before you and make sure no one impedes you."

The four of them retraced their steps through the ship and back to the hangar bay. They loaded Gregory on the shuttle next to Dauphin and KD.

"Good luck to you. You _must_ go—quickly."

Marín began to close the hatch.

"But one more thing. Tell the Admiral… Tell him Sasha says hello."

* * *

"Incoming transmission from a UED registered vessel, Admiral Stukov," the _Aleksander's_ adjutant said dimly. Stukov slowly turned away from the battle below him, puzzled. The adjutant had been acting up lately; not being able to ascertain a ship's designation was not normal. Surely it was a message from the _Kuznetsov_. The _Aleksander_ , he thought, was finally coming apart. _Maybe now I can get it fixed by the_ Destroyer Fleet. _That may be_ one _positive of my recent re-conscription._ Stukov mounted the observation deck's short stairs to the computer terminal on the second level.

"Patch it through, Adjutant."

The screen snapped on. A Directorate officer appeared on the screen in a shuttle. It took him a moment to realize he recognized her.

"Admiral Stukov."

"Admiral... Marín?"

The bright flash of a laser cannon brightened the ship's cabin. Wherever they were, they were in the thick of battle.

"Not a lot of time to chat, Admiral, but I wanted you to see something."

Marín nodded back towards the hold of the shuttle. In it was his son, unconscious, being propped up by two other people he recognized—Dauphin and KD, the two women he had held hostage a few days earlier. KD saluted at him mockingly. Another woman in a ghost's uniform was guarding the three of them, her C-14 in her lap.

"What have you done to him?"

"He's fine. Would not come willingly and had to be… uh… sedated. We are five minutes out from the _Uhuru_ , and I'll be ordering her away from battle. I hope that this fulfills our part of our original bargain."

"The comm buoy codes?"

"A message has already been sent, but I'm relaying the codes now. A man named Shin contacted your daughter once he learned you were alive. He told us to say… Sasha says hello."

Relief washed over him. He would send a message just to be sure, but whoever this "Shin" was right to contact her first; she would take care of it. Stukov opened his mouth to respond, but realized his emotions were getting the best of him. His face felt hot and his eyes were beginning to sting. After what he had witnessed on the _Kuznetsov_ , what he had to endure with Reeves, and his denial by the Terran Republic, to be free of the UED's yoke and of the worry he had for his son was a tremendous weight lifted from him. He closed the channel, not wanting them to see him break down. He used the codes to connect to the comm buoys and send an encrypted message. He was indeed alive. Gregory was safe now. Get off of Earth, and Gantris may not be far enough to run even if it _had_ declared its sovereignty from the Directorate. He wanted to tell them to come to him; he hadn't seen them in so long, and with their mother gone, they had little family left other than each other. But they weren't safe with him either. Kel-Morian space, perhaps? He reminded her to use the "default" encryption and frequency they always used when contacting one another, and that he would be listening. He sent the message quickly. It was time to rise up and do what he could to disrupt the UED and the protoss. He again gazed outside onto the battle below. There wasn't much time. By now, the _Wrath of the Ardent_ would be closing in on Tyrador IX. If it reached there with its phase displacement beam, the Terran Republic's troops would have to concede defeat or risk the planet being purified.

But of course he already had a contingency plan in mind, just in case the worst or best scenario came to pass…

* * *

Alarak transported down to the planet's surface the moment that the _Wrath of the Ardent_ was in range, his troops—bloodhunters, ascendants, wrathwalkers, and other proud and terrible Tal'darim warriors—supporting him. They made short work of the local militia, but the trained terran troops—some in grey, some in blue—were a bit more difficult. Even so, they were totally unprepared for an assault by the protoss. Their defenses had been obviously positioned with the infested in mind. His wrathwalkers assaulted their siege tanks from afar, and his bloodhunters and ascendants walked right into their line, outpacing the hordes of infested. He stopped briefly to cut a reaver from shoulder to hip, merely to inspire fear in the other humans around them. Alarak encouraged the others to do the same.

Soon, the humans were on the run. Alarak heard the bellowing of one of Stukov's giant ultralisks in the distance. Despite the defenses being set for Stukov, they did not seem to be hindering him. As he turned the corner, he saw the massive ultralisk toss a siege tank high into the sky. As he was distracted, a marine—high ranking if his heavily-modified suit was any indication—took a few shots at him from a two-wheeled conveyance and fled.

 _You impertinent wretch!_

Alarak knew that the man was baiting him away, but he did not know to what end. An ambush was most likely, but there was nothing that this human could throw at him that he did not think he could surmount. He followed but told his troops to keep to their advance. On foot he was at a disadvantage, but the debris on the streets was keeping the terran from getting that far ahead. The ultralisk howled again, closer. He heard inarticulate shouts from his men, but nothing that sounded like they were in danger. Alarak charged towards the man, sinking his blade into his vehicle and throwing him forward off of it. The marine's armor absorbed the blow; he rolled to a crouch and fired at him then set off at a dead run. Alarak followed. He would let him lead him to whatever ill-fated trap he had made and relish his terror when he slaughtered all those who had help lay it. He followed the man to a dead end—a cul-de-sac on which a terran skyscraper loomed. In each window, terran snipers—ghosts and shadowguards—trained their weapons on him.

 _Not bad. But ultimately useless._

Summoning all his rage, he prepared to unleash all of his psionic energy in a torrent of fury. But behind him he heard shouting and the repeated roars of an ultralisk, its feet shaking the ground as it ran. Alarak turned and looked at it. It stopped. For a split second, it looked as if it was thinking. It shook its massive head as if trying to pull itself out of a daze. It looked around and locked its eyes on Alarak. It pawed the ground, pulling up the street's concrete as it did. The missile launchers strapped to its back emitted a painful whine as they warmed up and caught. It started to gallop towards him, its head lowered, its shoulders and tusks scraping the buildings as it powered through the too-small street right towards him. Missiles launched and arched, targeted on him.

 _Stukov, you_ bastard.

The terran had switched sides or at least had sided against him. _Had his son died or had he been rescued?_ He thought. _It didn't matter._ Alarak was about to unleash an attack towards the ultralisk when a hail of bullets struck him in the back, pushing him down. He had to roll out of the way of the missiles and duck down a smaller side street. The ultralisk skidded to a halt to try to find him, wedging its snapping blades into the street.

"Ji'nara, Stukov has betrayed us."

"I'm _aware_ of that, Highlord," she said, annoyed. "His air units are engaging our interceptors."

"Take me aboard! We will purify this place and have done with all of them!"

The city vanished before Alarak's eyes replaced by the bridge of the _Wrath of the Ardent_. Looking up, he saw Stukov's infested liberators belching their disgusting poison into the air. But then, out of the clouds, the _Aleksander_ appeared.

"Blow him out of the sky!" Alarak said, pointing up at the bloated hulk of a ship. As he said it, a tendril snaked out and struck the mothership. It shuddered.

"Weapons are offline… Infestation…"

Another tendril slapped the side of the vessel and burrowed into it. The bridge went dark. Alarak stumbled as he felt the ship begin to list.

"Get someone down there to cauterize those tendrils. He can't keep hold of us for long. The infestation _won't_ last. The purification beam?"

"Offline with our weapons… We're losing altitude. I'm trying to get the engines back online."

"It's just as well. We'll be in range of the purification beam when power is restored."

The ground rushed closer and closer. One of the tendrils was cut away by a destroyer Ji'nara had called in from the fleet. The bridge became light once more.

"Altitude and attitude stabilizing."

"Bring our weapons online, Ji'nara!"

"I'm trying! I keep attempting to reroute power, but the _Aleksander_ is _draining_ us!"

The destroyer cauterized the second tendril.

"Power to weapons restored. Activating purifier sequence."

Below, Alarak watched as two apocalisks erupted from the ground below the _Wrath of the Ardent_. Missiles burst from their backs, spiraling towards Alarak's giant mothership.

"Ji'nara! Pull up!"

"What?"

But it was too late. It was a focused attack. Volley after volley of missiles struck the underside of the _Wrath of the Ardent_ , targeting the purifier's array. An explosion rocked the vessel, throwing Alarak and Ji'nara to the ground. Ji'nara clawed her way back up the console.

"The purifier array… It's offline. Damage reports… It's been… destroyed?"

Alarak shouted inarticulately with fury and jumped up from the ground.

"Are the transport systems online?"

"Yes, Highlord!" Alarak looked up to see the _Aleksander_ slowly moving away and into orbit. But he was still in range.

"I think I owe Stukov a visit."

* * *

Stukov willed the _Aleksander_ up and away from the planet's surface. Now that the planet could no longer be purified, he could focus his attention on helping his Koprulu sector allies as they dealt with the Directorate fleet. He closed the observation deck's infested oculus as he climbed into space.

A muffled alarm sounded.

"Intruder alert," the _Aleksander's_ Adjutant said slowly, stumbling over "intruder." Stukov slowly turned away from the railing to address the adjutant. She had trouble hearing him now.

"Where? Who?"

"Bridge. One lifeform. Protoss."

 _Alarak._

This was not something he expected, but he should have. _Anger makes even the protoss do stupid things. Anger and stupidity—two universal constants._ But he had also been stupid. He had lingered to watch his apocalisks attack the _Wrath of the Ardent_ when he should have moved on. _And now I risk a summary execution-again_. Even though they were on _his_ ship, Alarak was a protoss and the infestation had very little effect on him. He was also the Highlord of the Tal'darim and an expert in hand-to-hand combat bedecked in state-of-the-art protoss armor. Stukov had his arm, his claw, and his pestilence, but all of those things were slow, and without good timing, Alarak's blade would find him. His arm began to grow in size, filling with the poison and disease he used to infest and sicken his enemies. He could feel the strength in it, but it also made his bones ache and his muscles cramp as they expanded and new ones grew, attaching with sinew and zerg flesh. Stukov was as ready as he could be, but he would need to stall for time for the right moment. He urged the _Aleksander_ back down into low orbit.

 _Alarak? We can discuss this like men_.

The protoss highlord recieved his telepathic entreaty. Stukov could hear him above stalking across the deck. He heard the sound of metal bending and the smell of burning zerg flesh. The bright red blade of Alarak's weapon thrust through the ceiling of the observation deck as Alarak cut a hole in it and dropped down. Stukov held his hand out in front of him in a feigned gesture of fear, backing himself against the low wall of the observation room's upper deck. In two giant steps, Alarak was upon him, pinning him bodily against the wall, Stukov's giant palm the only thing between them. Stukov could feel the heat of Alarak's blade near the side of his already ruined face.

"It wasn't personal, Alarak. I couldn't let you purify that planet."

"So there _is_ some fear in you. Tell me, monster, what made you change your mind? Did you free your son, or did he die? What a pathetic creature you are letting sentimentality guide your actions. You should have let him die and killed Reeves for his trouble. You could have found a human woman to whelp you another, your race is so disgustingly quick to breed. Or are you too old for that? Humans do age terribly. Or is that something _else_ the zerg took from you, hm?"

 _Yes, keep prattling on, Alarak. For once I'm glad all protoss leaders are full of meaningless bluster._ The _Aleksander_ dipped lower. Stukov slowly opened the observation deck's infested oculus again, hoping Alarak would not notice.

"It doesn't matter now, Alarak. I have exactly what I wanted. Killing me won't change that. But you… You'll _never_ hold Tyrador. The Daelaam and their allies may retreat, but the Directorate _never_ intended to let you keep those planets. If they get what they want, they will turn on you just like they did me. Reeves's hate for me may be great, but his bigotry against aliens is greater."

"I had thought as much. But they'll have to pry this system from my clenched fist. I'll have to assuage myself with punishing you for your betrayal—by spilling your tainted blood all over the deck of your cursed ship." Alarak raised his blade, ready to disembowel him. Stukov carefully positioned his clawed hand around Alarak's breastplate.

"I think you've overstayed your welcome, Alarak."

Stukov's arm swelled again, its tissues rapidly building and engorging. Before Alarak could react, Stukov had grabbed him—hard—and shoved him backwards over the observation's deck's railing and out of the oculus, his arm continuing to grow in a grotesque mass of musculature, creep, and zerg tendrils. The pain was almost overwhelming. When Alarak was far enough away from the ship, he let him go. Stukov heard Alarak scream for Ji'nara to transport him as he hacked into Stukov's arm, sending burning pain back through it. Despite himself, Stukov sank to the floor in agony as the distended arm sloughed off, revealing his smaller but still disfigured one underneath. He clutched it, still feeling phantom pain though Alarak's blade did no lasting damage. It was wet with his black blood and creep.

"Ad-adjutant. Take us up."

"Yes, Admiral."

He closed the oculus but was not collected enough to move the _Aleksander_ —or rally his troops. He called to Izsha desperately. She heard him and began to move their air units towards the Terran Republic and Umojan fleets. He sat against the wall cradling his bloodied arm to his chest and collecting himself. The pain would subside. It always did. He always healed and kept going. But now was different. The UED and the Tal'darim would be gunning for him, and he had his son to protect. Despite the pain, he would have to fight.

 _They will pay_.


	13. Chapter 13: Evac

Red chevrons, demarking UED and Tal'darim ships, began blinking and disappearing on Horner's holographic display. It appeared as though they were being attacked by their allies. After a few moments, Horner realized what was happening.

"Adjutant, change the mark color for Stukov's forces to green."

A fourth of the chevrons updated to the new color. As he watched, the green chevrons seemed to stagger uncertainly through space, but they were clearly attacking the Tal'darim and the UED.

 _Yep. Stukov has changed sides. But why?_ he thought. _And something's wrong_. During the End War and in the first war against the UED, Horner had known Stukov to be unconventional—but exacting. Even as a zerg, his strong will showed through in how he commanded his infested. But his troop movements now were erratic.

"Open a channel to the _Aleksander_ , Adjutant."

Horner heard the familiar chime as the channel opened. He waited, and no one responded.

"Again, Adjutant."

No response. Horner didn't know if that meant anything. It may have been that Stukov was nursing a grudge, still angry about Horner denying him help. Or it could just have been his personality. Stukov had been civil but short when he had spoken to him; now he didn't _need_ to speak to Horner, and so perhaps he just wasn't. _Still_.

"A Nova Terra is requesting to come aboard, Admiral," his Adjutant said.

"Nova? What the… Adjutant, relay this message: 'Get the hell up here.'"

Horner was surprised that Marín had let her go. _Or did she?_ Dread settled into his stomach. _Oh god, what has she done?_ Horner was worried that maybe she had killed Marín or done something to Stukov. _That would explain his odd behavior_ … _Did Valerian succeed? Does he now have control of Stukov's forces?_ Hundreds of worst-case scenarios flooded Horner's mind as the elevator doors to the bridge opened to reveal Nova. She strode onto the bridge with her characteristic purposeful ferocity that scared the shit out of Horner.

"I'm, uh, surprised to see you here, Nova. You didn't…"

"Kill the Umojan admiral? No. She and I came to… An agreement," she said, walking around the war table, eyeing the holographic display. She stopped opposite him, offering nothing more. Horner was again fearful. His imagination was running wild again.

"What… What kind of agreement?"

"She and I went on a field trip—to the _Kusnetsov_."

"You did _what_?"

"And came back with Stukov's piece of shit son."

Horner breathed a sigh of relief. _So that's what happened_.

"That… Explains a lot…" Horner gestured towards the new green wave of units on his tactical map. Nova chuckled.

"You almost pissed your pants right now, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, I thought you had killed Marín—or Stukov. In retrospect, I don't know how I let Valerian talk me into signing off on that mission."

"I don't know how you did either. Going to the _Kuznetsov_ was the right answer. And looking at your files, I don't know why Valerian didn't call me up when Stukov proposed it the first time and why the Umojans were the ones to finally step up and do it."

The thought hadn't occurred to Horner. He wasn't used to using Nova as an agent, but it should have occurred to Valerian. He wondered if it had. What had made Valerian want to kill Stukov instead? Arguably getting aboard the _Aleksander_ would have been harder than getting aboard the _Kuznetsov_. Stukov's telepathy and ability to detect would have been major hurdles for her—and that was without the risk of her being infested. Horner realized now just how dumb that _had_ been. If Nova had not been successful, they would have basically handed the Swarm someone as powerful as Kerrigan. Horner consoled himself with the fact that Stukov was not an overmind and would probably did not wish his fate on anyone else. That scenario hadn't played out and Stukov was fighting for them now.

"I'm just glad the Umojans didn't take much offense and that Stukov is on our side."

"Oh, they were offended. But the UED is attacking them too. They don't have much choice."

"Well, for Pete's sake, don't do it again."

"Whatever you say, boss."

"Boss?"

"You're the president-in-exile of the Terran Republic. I don't know what else you'd be."

"What about Valerian?"

Nova looked off into the distance, her face changing almost imperceptibly. He could have sworn he saw her shiver.

"After I talked to Marín and she laid out the mission… there's something going on with Valerian, and I don't want to be part of it. It doesn't make sense… or it does if Valerian has been lying to me this whole time. That 'new' evidence that the Umojans uncovered—the files that finally got him impeached—I never believed any of it. Valerian had been honest with me once, and I took him at his word after that. But maybe… I don't know. Maybe he told me the 'truth' then, so I would swallow his lies later." She turned back to Horner, her eyes turning cold again. "But this is not the time to talk about it, is it?"

Horner felt a kinship with her now. Both had believed in Valerian for years and didn't recognize the person they were faced with right now. He was also glad that Nova was firmly on their side. They needed all the allies they could get.

"No, we have a battle to fight. When it's over, I'll talk to him," Horner said quietly.

"What are your orders then?"

"There's not much you can do now. If you still work with a team, get them ready. Whatever the outcome here, we'll need them." Nova nodded. "And go talk to the quartermaster on deck fifteen. He'll find you a bunk somewhere."

"Thanks."

As Nova left, Horner poured over the tactical map again, watching as the Umojan line moved with the Terran Republic's and now Stukov's, corralling UED and Tal'darim forces back towards the minefield and away from Tyrador VIII and IX. The Umojans had made competent allies in a way he hadn't expected. Horner had worried that they would be inflexible, non-communicative, and at worst not up to the task, but they were better trained than he imagined. _And a lot ballsier… Aren't Umojans supposed to be over-careful or something?_ But stereotypes were often wrong, he reminded himself. _They're not that culturally different than we are, though I think the UNN wants us to think overwise_.

Horner watched an infested liberator swing wide and slam into the minefield. Thankfully, Karax had updated the mines to Stukov's new allegiance. Horner watched as the mines impacted ships on the other side, leaving considerable damage. The detonations debilitated a battlecruiser and destroyed a liberator.

 _They scattered like pool balls…_

Horner thought for a moment.

"Adjutant, get me Chief Engineer Swann."

"Admiral! What can I do ya for?"

"We got any torpedoes… that don't have warheads?"

"Well, we assemble 'em ourselves. No reason we can't fire some blanks. But what's the point?"

"I have a theory I want to test. Load the starboard array with them."

"You're the boss."

Horner moved the _Hyperion_ into position perpendicular to the minefield, making sure there was nothing in the way of his shot. He aimed one of the empty torpedoes at a mine, hoping to broadside a troop transport ship making its way to the breach in the minefield. He traced the path with the computer's targeting array, but it gave him a wide margin for error. Horner eyeballed it. He waited. The torpedo arced its way across the tactical map. It hit the mine, and the mine started to move—fast. But the mine went wide and missed, hitting nothing. He sized up another target—a liberator—and fired again. Horner hit the mine this time. He held his breath as it made its way towards the liberator—and hit it. The liberator's marker disappeared. It had been totally destroyed.

 _Hot damn._

There were thousands of targets on the field but thousands of mines as well. Horner looked for the _Vrede_. It was still adrift. He decided to call Marín instead since she was on the front lines.

"What can I do for you, Admiral Horner?"

"Admiral Marín, have you ever played pool?"

Marín looked at him skeptically.

"Uh… no? I mean, I know what it _is_ … Isn't it like bocce ball but with a table and sticks?"

 _Okay, maybe they_ are _'culturally different.'_

"I… maybe? Nevermind. Bad analogy. I'll get to the point. One of Stukov's liberators knocked a bunch of mines into the UED fleet. I don't think it was purposeful, but an empty torpedo will do the same thing…"

"Ah, so, yes, like bocce ball."

"I… sure? They can't detect the mines and they do some serious damage."

"Sounds like an interesting weapon to add to our arsenal… Have you told Stukov?"

"No. I've tried contacting him, and he's been ignoring me."

"That's odd… I talked to him earlier…" Marín's demeanor suddenly changed. "I mean… I…"

"Relax. Nova told me all about it. You did what you thought was right. I just hope the rest of your fleet agrees."

"Well, we'll see about that. Thanks for the tip. I'll radio it to the rest of our fleet. I'll, uh, try to get in touch with Stukov. I'll let you know if he responds."

The Umojan Core Fleet began repositioning, moving perpendicular to the minefield but keeping the breach nearby. He watched as mines began streaming out of the minefield towards the UED and protoss fleets. Behind them, Stukov was dealing with the Tal'darim. _The Wrath of the Ardent_ stayed where it was, keeping the allied human Koprulu sector forces from getting near either planet. The Terran Republic and the Umojan Protectorate had few boots on the ground now, and there was no way to get any more to the planet's surface.

Horner focused on his task at hand: back his enemies into the minefield. Seal the breach. Destroy as much of the invading fleet as possible. If they could seal the minefield again (with Stukov not infesting the mines, this would be much easier) and eliminate the forces that had already entered Tyrador airspace, they could keep them at bay. It would take a while—especially with Stukov apparently not at full power—but he could see where they could make a stand at Tyrador.

What Horner didn't notice however, was a lone UED science vessel that had piloted though the breach flanked by two allied liberators. He didn't notice that they broke formation with the rest of the UED's forces and took a circuitous route towards the _Aleksander_. But he did notice when a large energy burst radiated out from the vessel—more powerful than an EMP, but not powerful enough for a weapon. At the last moment, the _Aleksander_ tried to get out of the way, but was caught up in its wake. When it hit, all his units stopped.

"Adjutant, get me a view of the _Aleksander_."

The _Aleksander_ appeared in place of the tactical map. It was listing at a strange angle, and flesh seemed to be sloughing off of it. Its tendrils shook as if electrified.

 _What the hell?_

"Admiral, we have reports coming in of Stukov's units attacking indiscriminately…" Horner's XO said.

Horner changed his view back to the tactical map. What he saw confirmed his crewman's report. Stukov's forces had started attacking whatever was near them—human, protoss, or even other zerg. And the _Aleksander_ was adrift.

"Incoming message from Valerian Mengsk," said the _Hyperion_ 's adjutant.

"Patch it through, Adjutant."

"Matt," Valerian said, sitting in a baroque, antique chair on the bridge of the Moebius flagship, the _Oppenheimer_. If you could ignore the black consoles and crewman in black around him, the furniture he had placed on its bridge made it look like a Tarsonis-elite's living room. _Or a throne room_ , Horner thought. "The _Aleksander_ has been hit."

"I'm aware of that. His forces have gone rogue. Any idea what that was?

"Oh, I'd recognize the energy signature of a psi disrupter any day. It was a tool Moebius used often…"

Horner felt his body grow cold. Reeves wasn't as "incompetent" as Stukov had thought he was. He had brought some tech with him—most likely originally to handle the zerg—and readied it to use against Stukov if he had turned against him.

"What does that mean then?"

"Stukov has lost control. For now anyway." Valerian sighed. "We should have eliminated him when we had the chance."

"I don't think that's fair," Horner said. "Surely he can get control back."

"If we destroy the disrupter, yes. But who knows how many they have?"

Horner minimized Valerian's feed and checked the tactical map. The science vessel was emitting its psionic pulse intermittently near the _Aleksander_ and was out of reach of other vessels because of the chaos now unfolding as Stukov's fleet lashed out at whatever was nearby. Without orders from Stukov and maddened by the disrupter, they rampaged across the field of battle. Other UED vessels began to rally around the science vessel, protecting it from destruction. The longer they waited, the harder it would be to get Stukov back in the fight.

"For now, let's focus on destroying the one. Have you got any ships to spare?"

"Sorry, no."

"Fine," Horner said, starting to get frustrated with him. He wondered if that was a lie. "I'll take care of it." He closed the channel. Immediately, the adjutant spoke again.

"Incoming message. Sender unknown."

After asking the adjutant to patch it through, he was greeted by half of the face of Izsha, permanent fixture aboard Kerrigan's old leviathan, now in Stukov's fleet. It was apparent that Izsha was unfamiliar with the device she was using. Izsha did not know where to stand—or hang—to be in the right place for the video feed. She was too close, and the feed was angled where if she had nostrils, Horner would be staring up them. Horner was repulsed by the sight. He had no idea who she was.

"Admiral Horner. It is good to finally meet you."

"Uh, likewise? Do we… Know each other?"

"I am Izsha, former assistant to the Queen of Blades, now assistant to Admiral Stukov."

Horner had read something about Izsha but had no idea what she looked like. He thought she was disgusting, but as far as zerg go, Horner thought her pretty tame—except for the long, single talons on her segmented arms.

"Do you know what happened to Stukov?"

"That is why I am contacting you. Admiral Stukov was injured by Alarak after aligning with your fleet. His injury was keeping him from controlling his units effectively, but he was healing. The psi disrupter was used on him while he was vulnerable. I fear that he may be incapacitated. Thankfully, I am out of range. But I require your assistance."

"We're already on it, Izsha. I'm moving ships in to destroy that science vessel."

"I'm afraid that will be inadequate, Admiral Horner. I do not believe Admiral Stukov will become sensate again unless he is given help. However, Abathur should be able to heal him. The science vessel must be destroyed, and my leviathan must be escorted to the _Aleksander_ so that Abathur can board it and render aid."

Izsha looked down at him, blinking her wet, black eyes, waiting for his response. Horner had no choice but to comply.

* * *

Izsha stopped being Izsha as soon as she terminated the power to the human radio device. She was the ship, the leviathan. Once, all the Swarm had gone through her. But when the Queen of Blades returned from her ascension to settle her affairs, when asked with whom she would like to stay, Izsha had chosen Stukov, not Zagara. Now, only Stukov's swarm reported to her. As she pulled herself back into the ship, she could feel the animal of the zerg working together as one. But it was maimed now, unable to regroup with the many who had been cut off by the psi disrupter. And they all howled for their master, obeying her for now but addicted to the order and purpose supplied by Stukov.

The full zerg, the broods, she knew well. But the infested were different. They responded as the zerg would, but sometimes she could hear echoes. Some of their minds were more intact than others. They were not like Stukov, but occasionally their minds would awaken, and they would think. Except it was not really thinking. It was an echo of thinking; a thought that had been expressed in life and stored and repeated in death.

"I'm scared," they would say, or "It hurts." Sometimes they would cry out for their loved ones. And sometimes they would mistake Stukov or Izsha for someone they knew in life. _Especially at times like these when control is weakened_. Izsha remembered that Stukov had been horrified by this phenomenon at first, but finally got used to it, realizing that the thoughts were not real. Izsha was often still confused by it, having little experience with humans.

"It passes quickly," she remembered him saying, "It's the infestation crawling through the nervous system, activating different centers of the brain. Like a corpse moving as rigor sets in. Pay it no attention, Izsha."

Life had been different for Izsha under Stukov. Kerrigan's first incarnation had been ruthless, twisting and forcefully molding her into her current incarnation. Stukov asked less of her and rarely cared _how_ she followed his orders as long as she did. She appreciated the relative freedom. But Kerrigan had a higher purpose and Stukov did not. They were not fighting a war for the galaxy, they were simply trying to survive. This was the first important battle that she had fought alone with him. _And I will not let my Admiral down_. He was weaker than Kerrigan and had a more fragile form. She would have to take a more active role.

The stars spread out around her. She sensed not only her fellow zerg but the strong presence of the protoss, both Tal'darim and Daelaam. It was they that Horner had tasked with escorting her. The _Spear of Adun_ —larger even than her own leviathan—settled alongside her. She perched at the edge of the disrupter's influence and waited. Izsha reached out to the _Aleksander_. Stukov's mind was silent; she could not feel his presence. Ships fled before Stukov's untethered infested units. Izsha tried to recapture them, calling them to the leviathan. But the disrupter was too powerful, and they would not heed her. Battlecruisers, both Umojan and Terran Republic, began to group near the science vessel. Its escort was aware of their movements and began firing on them before they could form up. There was an intense firefight. But the battlecruisers had been a distraction. Behind them, protoss fighters warped in to engage the escort. They were forced to flee, and in their flight ran straight into the zerg that Izsha still controlled. In the carnage, the science vessel was destroyed.

The _Spear of Adun_ moved forward and she followed.

 _Abathur, be ready._

There was no response.

 _Abathur, we are moving in._

She could feel his surliness. Izsha became agitated, not understanding his animus towards Stukov.

 _Abathur, Stukov needs you._

She felt his exasperation. _Moving into position for transport. Ready momentarily._

The leviathan moved beside the _Aleksander_. The _Spear of Adun_ held off the rampaging infested and the Tal'darim and UED who had undoubtedly realized what they were trying to do. A tendril snaked out from the leviathan and bored into the side of the _Aleksander_.

 _Go, Abathur_.

She could feel Abathur move through the leviathan and down the tendril into the _Aleksander_. He was not moving as quickly as she would have liked, but she said nothing. Izsha felt him board the _Aleksander_. Minutes went by—eons for someone who experienced time like Izsha did, input from thousands of sources at once. But her main source was silent. She needed direction. Izsha had been bred as a tool, and she needed to feel useful.

Izsha felt Abathur's surprise and dismay. He had found Stukov. It was worse than he had thought.

 _What is wrong, Abathur?_

 _Nothing. Flesh can be mended. Will take longer than expected._

 _What happened? Tell me._

 _Seizure due to psionic feedback loop. Not unexpected but rare. Proximity to disrupter a factor._

Izsha felt panic and could not identify why.

 _Will he be the same? His mind, will it—_

 _Damage not permanent. Do not interrupt me again._

Izsha waited impatiently. The protoss Hierarch began trying to hail her. She fiddled with the human radio device again, switching it on. Artanis, the protoss Hierarch, appeared before her. She had only spoken directly to a protoss once before, and that was while she was killing it. Now, she was helping one of their leaders. Today was a series of firsts for Izsha.

"Yes, Hierarch. How may I assist you?"

"Izsha, is it? How much more time do you need?"

"I do not know, and I cannot ask. Please be patient. A few more minutes perhaps?"

"Very well. We will wait."

Izsha thought that went well. _He seemed civil enough_ , she thought.

She felt a familiar presence, formless and pained. It gathered strength and cohesion. Incoherent still, it babbled, its thoughts disordered. It was Stukov's unconscious mind rejoining the psionic link to her and the infested. Around them, his army stopped in its tracks, docile, no longer attacking, hanging in space. The disrupter was gone, and they could undoubtedly hear their master. The UED and the Tal'darim were picking the infested vessels off as they sat unable to defend themselves. Izsha began calling to them, pulling them towards her to keep them from being destroyed. She felt scratching and clawing in the psionic bond, then Stukov's unconscious mind went silent. Izsha panicked again, but then she felt him, as if he was standing behind her, looking over her shoulder as she surveyed the battlefield.

 _Izsha? Abathur?_

He was back. But she realized his mind was open. He hadn't yet regained his faculties enough to cut himself off from his swarm. Izsha felt unrestrained greed. Impulsively, she reached into his mind and dug into what she could, knowing there were only moments before he was fully conscious. Kerrigan had put her thoughts, memories, and plans in her, but Stukov was less open. She wanted his thoughts and memories. If she had them, she thought, she could make better decisions, and if they ever lost him, or he left their small swarm, at least they would have his—and Kerrigan's—minds to guide them. She copied and copied, not sorting any of the information—she could do that later.

Izsha felt his mind closing. If she kept on, he would know what she had done. She lingered for a few seconds and then quickly exited, burying what she had found in her own memory where he would never find it.

 _Are you well, Admiral?_

 _Enough, yes. Abathur is coming back to you. You've done well, Izsha._

 _Thank you, Admiral._

 _He doesn't know_ , she thought, _good._

* * *

Stukov had awoken face down on the bridge of the _Aleksander_. His head ached, but he felt better than he had. Abathur had been there, but without a word he had retreated, his mission finished and finding no further business with him. Abathur had healed him completely. Stukov gathered himself up off the floor. The pain he felt was from hitting his head on the way down. But he was no longer distracted.

On his console, he saw that both Horner and Marín had tried to contact him. He must have been too engrossed in what he was doing and didn't hear his adjutant. And he hadn't noticed the science vessel. Science-vessel-mounted psi disrupters would be a hurdle for him in subsequent battles. If the UED could simply drop a psi disrupter near him—or his troops—and scramble them, his effectiveness was near zero. The irony of the UED using psi disrupters to neutralize his forces was not lost on him. But the science vessel was out of play, and he was back in the fight.

Stukov reached out to his infested. His "nap" had been a costly one. Almost all his units were gone. Frustration and rage coursed through him. Reeves had gotten the better of him. He was sure that the moment Reeves found out that he was a zerg he had most likely begun researching how to disable him in combat. _Or whenever he felt like leaving me to the wolves_.

Pulling what few infested he had towards him, he began their muster anew. He assessed the battle around him, deciding where he would be the most useful. The battle on the ground was all but lost. The _Wrath of the Ardent_ , Alarak's specialized and enormous mothership—clearly partially a copy of the _Spear of Adun_ —was sitting near Tyrador IIV like Cerberus at the gates of the underworld. He surveyed the minefield and saw the Core Fleet knocking mines into the Destroyer Fleet and the Tal'darim. He chuckled to himself.

 _Interesting_.

He took what little resources he had left—a few liberators, some mutilisks, and two brood queens—and moved towards the minefield. Stukov willed his units to attack the Tal'darim holding open the minefield breach, and joined the Umojans, reaching out with the _Aleksander_ 's tendrils to lob the mines at the enemy ships. Without prompting, the Umojan admiral sent him a map of the location of the mines. This helped considerably; he did not have to divide his attention by searching around for the psionic signature of the mines. But it was still at best a guerilla strategy, and one that would hold them off but not let them win decisively.

Looking around again, he saw that the Terran Republic and Umojan fleets had suffered heavy losses. The _Spear of Adun_ looked no worse for wear, but there were few smaller Daelaam units that he saw around them. Still, if they could clear the airspace around the two planets, they could force the UED and Tal'darim into a war of attrition. Miraculously, the crippled _Vrede_ was still in one piece but adrift. It did not pose much of a threat, and their enemies must have been ignoring it.

The hair on the back of Stukov's neck stood up. There was an electricity in the space around him that as a zerg he could now feel.

 _Warp signatures_.

He watched as UED vessels warped in ahead of the minefield. _They must have diverted them from Tarsonis, after there was no reprisal._ It had been a brash decision and dangerous. _Reeves put many lives at risk_. FTL jumps were not exact to the kilometer. Even with specified coordinates, there was always some "drift." Planets were moving and so were solar systems and the arms of the galaxy. The further the jump, the more imprecise. Jumping that close to a planet was reckless. The ships could have warped directly _into_ the minefield, into another ship, or worse—into one of the twin orbiting (and already unstable) Tyrador-system planets.

Reeves lost three battlecruisers to the minefield. One had warped directly into it, and the other two had just been too close. But he had been lucky. The small fleet that had survived was roughly the size of the Umojan fleet—and had onboard smaller ships that would be a great annoyance.

Meanwhile, the _Uhuru_ had been able to distract the last destroyer that was holding the breach open. _For what good that does us now!_ Stukov thought. The _Uhuru_ was hailing him.

"Admiral, I've been advised by Artanis that Karax has a failsafe in place to detonate the minefield. But we need the UED to get closer. Know how we could make the UED mad enough to come closer to the minefield?" She raised an eyebrow at him in a lock of playful mock-inquisitiveness.

"Are you suggesting that I use their obvious hate for me to lure them into doing something foolish?"

"I was going to say, 'use you as bait,' but I like what you said better. It's more proactive. Got any ideas?"

"Oh, several. Most of them will get me killed."

"Well, use the ones that won't."

"Don't worry. I have prior experience with this type of situation…"

"Do you mean dying or being a pain in the ass?"

"Both!"

"Whatever you do, you have fifteen minutes."

"I'll… Keep that in mind."

 _Fifteen minutes? That's not a lot of time…_

Stukov called to Izsha, summoning both of his leviathans. They were empty, but he had a plan.

Stukov moved the _Aleksander_ closer to the minefield and slipped through it. At full sub-light speeds, he skirted along the front of the UED fleet. A squadron of liberators gave chase. He opened a channel to the _Kuznetsov_. As the channel opened, he didn't wait for Reeves to respond.

"I should have known that you try to terminate me from afar—and that you would find a way to do it even while I was on your side. You are a coward, a liar, and—worse—ineffective. Not only did you _fail,_ but you didn't even have the _courage_ to cross the minefield and do it yourself. If it's any consolation, Troy, I'm more miserable alive than dead. I guess I'll have to find ways to bolster my spirits—like crushing you!"

He closed the channel before he could respond. The _Kuznetsov_ began moving forward to bring its canons in range. Without Stukov's son on board, Reeves was getting more cavalier with his own ship. On the other side of the minefield, he watched as some of the newly-fielded UED vessels came towards him to cut off his escape. _Yes, Reeves. You hate me. Send all you've got at me, you stupid bastard_. Stukov's two leviathans loomed in the distance, larger than the UED carriers but slow and ineffective without the infested or zerg onboard. _But they're not without some armaments_.

The leviathans drew enemy ships from both the Tal'darim and the UED towards them. The Terran Republic and Umojan fleets took advantage of this and began attacking enemy vessels as they moved. The leviathans reached out and grabbed nearby UED units with their barbed appendages, disabling them and flinging them into the minefield.

 _Izsha, be careful_ , Stukov warned. Izsha did not respond but acknowledged that she heard him. She hung back slightly, allowing the unmanned leviathan to go before her. Mines scattered off in all directions, hit by the battlecruisers, which were obliterated by the blasts. Izsha stayed behind as the second leviathan waded through the minefield, sending more minefields into the UED fleet. Stukov fled in the _Aleksander_ under the leviathan, his pursuers breaking off when they saw the enormous zerg vessel. It was able to grab two of them and disable them.

But it dropped them when it saw its real target, the _Kuznetsov_. Reeves had recognized that this was some kind of trap, and he had already begun to move off. But the carrier was slow, and the leviathan had already made it up to its full sub-light speed. Drifting into range, it sank its barbs into the carrier, infesting it. The carrier continued to try to back off, but the leviathan dragged it backwards towards the minefield. Stukov hoped that the remaining psi disrupters were all aboard the _Kuznetsov_. This was likely, because they had probably not brought them from home and had made them here. They were costly to produce, and, he knew, Reeves would want to supervise their development and keep the devices secret.

Beside the _Kuznetsov_ , the fleet began to panic, focusing on the leviathan. But the closer they came, the more of them became infested. On the other side of the minefield, the _Spear of Adun_ and Izsha's leviathan busied themselves with the new fleet of battlecruisers, luring them closer and closer to the minefield. There was a vast number of them.

The infestation from both leviathans spread unchecked, holding vessels near the minefield. In the distance, Stukov saw the shadow of the _Wrath of the Ardent_ grow larger. Undoubtedly Alarak believed he could eliminate the leviathan—and that he could take down the _Spear of the Adun._ Then he realized what was in its path—the _Vrede_. And beside it was the _Uhuru_ , undoubtedly helping it evacuate. Stukov hesitated for a moment, unsure of himself. Should he help? Could he help? He ordered his adjutant to call the _Uhuru_.

* * *

On the bridge of the _Uhuru_ , Marín opened a frequency to Stukov. His piercing, glowing eyes and disfigured face appeared in place of her tactical map. He kept his bridge dark, she noticed. _He lives like a goddamn vampire_.

"Admiral Marín. Do you require assistance with the _Vrede_?"

"There's nothing to be done, Admiral Stukov. There's no time to take another round trip with our shuttles, and the Tal'darim would most likely destroy any escape pods."

Stukov looked pensive for a moment.

"I have a plan… You're not going to like it."

"The leviathan is repositioning, and the _Aleksander_ is moving on the _Vrede_ , Admiral," Barre said.

With a wave of her hand, Marín changed her screen back to a view of the battlefield. She watched as the _Aleksander_ moved closer to the _Vrede_ ; its tentacles flared out. The larger UED ship embraced the Umojan ship, its zerg appendages wrapping around it. Meanwhile, the leviathan rumbled backwards towards the _Wrath of the Ardent_ , moving to position itself between it and the _Vrede_.

 _What is he doing?_ Marín thought.

Suddenly, all of the _Aleksander_ 's appendages flinched, digging into the sides of the vessel.

"He's destroying it!" Barre said.

"I am _attempting_ a further _evacuation_!" Stukov snapped.

"Admiral Stukov, there's no time. We have to go."

"We have ten minutes. That is time enough for some. Keep them off me."

That was a taller order than Stukov had made it sound. The _Wrath of the Ardent_ would be on them soon, leviathan or not.

"Get me the _Spear of Adun_!"

Artanis's face appeared above the war table.

"Admiral. The detonation of the minefield is about to proceed. I would advise you to—"

"I'm aware, Hierarch. But Stukov is attempting an ill-advised evacuation of the _Vrede_ , and the _Wrath of the Ardent_ is on its way…"

"Understood. We will engage the Tal'darim as long as possible."

"Thank you, Hierarch."

Marín watched as the _Spear of Adun_ closed in on the _Wrath of the Ardent_.

"Bring us closer. Fire at will on Alarak's mothership."

Minutes went by. The _Uhuru_ was successful in drawing the _Wrath of the Ardent_ 's fire. But the giant Tal'darim ship was now within striking distance of the _Aleksander_. It disengaged its attack suddenly, veering towards it.

"Break off! Get between the _Wrath of the Ardent_ and the _Aleksander_ ," Marín shouted.

The _Uhuru_ banked back towards the _Aleksander_. In the distance, Moebius ships were jumping to FTL in flashes of light. _The first to abandon us, I see_. The _Uhuru_ fired on the mothership, but it did little good. The _Wrath of the Ardent_ powered its weapons to fire on the _Aleksander_. Marín worried that Stukov would be stranded, like those aboard the _Vrede_ , if he took damage.

The leviathan slung a barbed appendage at the _Wrath of the Ardent_ , burying it into its side. The _Wrath of the Ardent's_ shot went wide. It powered up to fire again, this time at the leviathan. Without direct weaponry and with the protoss ability to resist infestation, the leviathan couldn't hold the Tal'darim ship for long.

"Incoming message from Admiral Horner," the _Uhuru_ 's adjutant said.

"Patch it through!"

"Admiral Marín, we need to—,"

"I am _fully_ aware that we _need_ to _leave,_ Horner. But I am trying to keep Stukov alive long enough to make the jump. If you are not calling to offer assistance, I'm going to have to ask you to get _off this channel_."

"What? Oh."

The _Hyperion_ flew next to the _Uhuru_ , swooping in and drawing the mothership's fire. Horner powered up the _Hyperion_ 's yamato canon and blasted the mothership. It did little but was enough to draw their attention. Finally, the _Spear of Adun_ caught up the _Wrath of the Ardent_. Its canons began firing on Alarak's ship. Alarak returned fire, and the battle between the colossal ships was joined.

"What is Stukov doing?" Horner asked.

"Evac, somehow," Marín replied.

"Do I want to know how?"

"No, you most likely don't."

The _Wrath of the Ardent's_ shields went first, but the immense power of the void-channeled energies of the Tal'darim's weaponry eventually sliced into the _Spear of Adun_ 's hull. The ships began carving into each other, becoming alight with blue and red plasma flame. The _Spear of Adun_ began moving towards the minefield.

Artanis hailed the _Uhuru_.

"We are down to ninety of your seconds, Admiral. Tell your people they must leave. We will lure Alarak's ship as close to the minefield as we possibly can, but we will shortly go to FTL."

"You've done what you can. We'll meet you at the rendezvous."

"Do not tarry, Admiral."

"Don't worry about us, Hierarch. We'll manage"

The channel closed. She ordered Barre to tell all Umojan ships to jump to FTL. She opened the comm again, this time to speak to Stukov.

"Yes, I _know_ how much time there is." Stukov said, irritation in his voice.

"Listen to me: disengage. I don't care that Reeves got to you or that you lost all your units. You don't have any face to save."

"That's not what this is about!"

"Then what _is_ it? These are _my_ people—not yours. And I'm telling you to save yourself. You're useless to us dead, and _no one_ you've rescued will survive if you don't _get the hell out_."

Stukov sighed, and the channel abruptly closed. Marín's holographic view changed back to the battlefield. The leviathan pulled back all its appendages and disappeared into hyperspace. Beside it, the _Spear of Adun_ lingered, but then also went to FTL. All that was left was the _Uhuru_ and the _Aleksander_ , still locked onto the _Vrede._ The _Wrath of the Ardent's_ attention went back to the _Aleksander._ As Marín watched, each of the _Aleksander's_ appendages carefully dislodged themselves. The _Aleksander_ however, was still holding onto the _Vrede_.

"Thirty seconds to detonation, ma'am."

"Get us out of here, Ahlberg."

"Aye."

The _Aleksander_ made one last desperate push with its tendrils, an attempt to throw the _Vrede_ out of range of the minefield. It was going too slowly, Marín knew.

Distortion began to build around the _Aleksander_.

 _He's finally going to FTL_ , Marín thought. There was a bright flash in the distance. The minefield was starting to blow. Her view changed from that of the _Aleksander_ to hyperspace.

She didn't know whether Stukov had made the jump in time or not.


	14. Chapter 14: Defense

Hyperspace fell away and the _Uhuru_ was abruptly at the rendezvous point, the _Beynac_ automated fortress and shipyard, just inside Umojan space. Marín changed the vantage point of her holographic interface on the _Uhuru_ 's war table, scanning the area to assess who had made the jump in time. Most of the Moebius and Terran Republic fleets were here—what was left of them—as was what was the remainder of the Umojan fleet. In the distance, the _Spear of Adun_ majestically dwarfed everything near it, even Stukov's remaining leviathan. But there was no _Aleksander_. She searched again. Seconds passed.

 _Come on…_

"He didn't fucking make it, did he?" Barre said quietly. "All that fucking work…"

"He… could still be coming…" Ahlberg said. Marín ignored them both, her eyes still scanning the fleet.

There was a series of bright flashes and the _Aleksander_ was catapulted out of hyperspace, its attitude perpendicular to its FTL flight. Slowly, it righted itself. Purplish ichor oozed from its side, creating a globular cloud of liquid around it. Half its tendrils were missing. As Marín asked Barre to open a channel, she realized she'd been holding her breath.

The channel opened. "Admiral Stukov, are you receiving me?"

For a moment, there was no response. When it came, there was static on the other side and the visual feed was not working.

"Yes, I hear you. I could… use some help. I many of your people are stranded here, and I'm sure they do not wish to stay for long. Some require medical assistance."

"Of course. I'll get some medivac and shuttles over there as soon as possible. May I speak to Fleet Admiral Augustin?"

"I… haven't heard from him. I spoke to him before the evacuation…"

"He's onboard, right?"

"I am… not sure. If he is, he has not made himself known to me. He could perhaps be injured or incapacitated."

A chill ran through Marín. This was a situation she had not anticipated. There was no way that Stukov could have evacuated all the remaining crew of the _Vrede_ , but she had not thought that Augustin would not have made it to the _Aleksander_. _Don't panic yet,_ she told herself, _Stukov just got here. He doesn't know who's onboard—and he's right. Augustin could just be "injured or incapacitated_."

Stukov seemed to realize she was upset.

"My priority will be to look for him," he said.

"Thank you. I will be over in a few minutes to help redistribute the _Vrede_ troops to other vessels."

"Good. I will be expecting you."

Marín closed the channel. Ahlberg spoke immediately

"Do you think he's…"

"Augustin? I don't know. Let's not jump to any conclusions."

"But if he _is_ , does that mean…" Barre said quietly, giving voice to what was on everyone's mind but was too impolite to say: was Marín the Fleet Admiral now?

"Barre… Let's get into that yet. Tell Jansa to clear the hangar and get all our shuttles pulled. She hesitated. She didn't _need_ Vermaak, but it would be good to have him along. Marín knew he had made it back to the _Liberté_ but did not know where he was now. "And find Vermaak—wherever he is—and tell him to meet me in the hangar or on the _Aleksander_ if he can. Ahlberg, coordinate with the _Liberte_ and any other battlecruisers that can squeeze a few more people onto their ships. It's going to get a little tight around here until we can get some new boats added to the fleet. You both mind the shop until I'm back from helping Stukov—and hopefully finding Augustin." Marín made her way to the lift but stopped. She sighed. "One more thing," she said, looking to Ahlberg. "Call Dr. Laurent. She's going to want to put decontamination protocols in effect."

"Oh god, for everyone coming aboard?"

"Yes, everyone… And tell her to coordinate with the rest of the fleet. Everyone coming off the _Aleksander_ is going to have to go through the antimicrobial process _and_ a medical scanner."

"That's… that's going to take _hours_ ," Ahlberg said.

"Yes, get some drinks and rations down there. Some personnel might end up camping in the hangar overnight."

"Oh, Jansa's going to _love_ that," Barre said.

"I'm not exactly looking forward to it. I'll probably be the last to go through, though usually Dr. Laurent sets up a secondary area for high-ranking officers… I've already been through the protocols _once_ this week. I _still_ smell like that awful chemical they make you rub all over yourself… Our pilots can get away with hazmat suits… But I want to show them there's nothing to be afraid of."

"Have fun," Barre said with mock cheerfulness. Ahlberg rolled his eyes at him.

"I'll get everything set up. I hope you find Augustin. Not that I don't think you can handle it…" Ahlberg said.

"I understand. We need the old man right now more than ever. I'll let you know if I do."

With that, Marín made her way to the hangar. As she walked, she realized that even past the relationship she had with Augustin as her superior and mentor—she had served under him as an XO on the _Uhuru_ before Augustin was given the _Vrede_ —Marín desperately wanted him to be alive because she did not think she was ready to guide the Umojan Protectorate's combined military might in the field. _Leading Core Fleet is one thing—I command all the fleet's battlecruisers and work together with Vermaak to coordinate troop movements. But as a fleet admiral, I'll suddenly be Vermaak's superior and I'll be working directly with Oyaleni,_ whom thankfully made it to the _Liberté_ when Tyrador was evacuated. Having Oyaleni made her feel better. She could at least rely on her experience. She chided herself for thinking that way— _My experience is comparable to Oyaleni's_. _I don't_ need _anyone. It's not the job I'm worried about—it's the support_. Marín thought about the people whom she would need to convince that she was qualified. _After the stunts I've pulled recently, it may be hard to get some that already don't like my leadership style to get on board with confirming my promotion—if the worst has happened._ The people that worked _with_ her "got" what she was doing most of the time, she knew, but she feared others would look at her service behavior and see someone reckless and erratic.

And then there was the personal baggage that would come with becoming Fleet Admiral. There were regulations against having a relationship with a subordinate. _Preexisting relationships don't count… I hope? Me becoming Wynand's boss shouldn't be a_ real _problem… But is it going to get weird now?_ She reflected on how Vermaak saw fit to hide their relationship; this would make it worse. Marín hoped that they could withstand that kind of strain but realized how dumb that was. _We've been through wars and maiming and tours apart. A promotion isn't going to change anything_.

When Marín reached the hangar, the deck was already loud with the rumbling of idle shuttles and medivac vessels, their engines engaged, waited for the hangar bay shield to kick on and the door to open. Jansa was still pulling some army gear out of the way with a robotic forklift. On it was a vulture; its back wheel had a large gash in it. Marín realized it was Vermaak's. Vermaak was walking behind it, a toolkit under his arm. Marín was relieved that he looked uninjured. A flash of anxiety ran through her as she remembered the day he had come back in pieces. She walked up and hugged him. He squeezed her with his free arm.

"What happened?"

"Protoss. Trashed my bike. Knocked me off too."

"I thought you were going to be careful?"

"I was. But being on the front line is my job."

"You joining me, or you need to fix your bike?"

"The bike can wait. I lost a lot of men on Tyrador. I'm hoping to send some of the _Vrede_ 's troops back to us." He stowed the toolkit beside Jansa's office, trading it for a hazmat suit. "You know why Stukov's on our side now?"

Marín hesitated, struggling to find a way to discuss it without revealing her direct involvement.

"Uh, Nova rescued Stukov's son and brought him back here."

"You let her go?"

"It was part of the deal I made with her."

"Why didn't you let her kill that zerg bastard? Only good zerg is a dead one."

"Well, maybe you'll feel differently when you meet him."

Vermaak laughed derisively. "I doubt it."

Marín and Vermaak walked between the rows of shuttles.

"Where's your hazmat suit?" Vermaak asked.

"I'm not going to wear one. I've already been there and back…"

"Renata…"

"I want to show them they'll be okay. You can wear one…"

She flagged down the first shuttle. Its hatch opened.

"Well, well. Look who it is," Capt. Gavran said leaning back in his chair and looking through the hatch at Marín. He had a hazmat suit on, but hadn't put on the helmet. "You need a lift, boss?"

"Yep. One-way trip again," Marín said as she climbed inside and closed the hatch behind her.

"What? Are you serious? You going to do something crazy again?"

"Again? What?" Vermaak eyed her suspiciously.

"No, I'm going to help organize the redistribution of the _Vrede's_ crew." Marín gave Gavran a look that was supposed to bore "shut up" through his skull, but Gavran didn't get the hint.

"That's a relief. Thought I was going to have to knock you out and drag you back to the bridge. No _way_ I'm letting you pull what you did last time."

"What is he talking about, Renata?"

Vermaak closed the shuttle door behind him and sat across from Marín, looking her dead in the eye. His face was expressionless, but his grey eyes were cold and angry.

"She and Nova went over to the _Kuznetsov_ , walked _right_ on, and took Stukov's kid right out from under their noses."

"You did _what_?" Vermaak almost yelled. Gavran looked behind him and finally realized something was wrong. He went quiet, slumping a little in his chair. The energy barrier snapped on and the hangar door opened. The shuttle picked up and moved as Gavran maneuvered the shuttle out into space.

"Nova went. And I went with her. I wanted to insure she didn't complete her original mission."

"And _so what if she had_? Stukov turned out to be useless. He lost all his units, and the Directorate has found out a way to knock him out in every battle!"

"He's not 'useless.' He saved thousands of lives from the _Vrede_ , and we'll figure out a way around the psi disrupters."

Vermaak rubbed his head and growled in frustration.

"Talking to you is like speaking to a neosteel bulkhead. You command a fleet. You have no business going off on your own. When you get the idea to _do_ these things, send someone _else_."

"I'm _not_ going to do that."

"Why?"

Gavran interrupted, speaking loudly into the comm, it seemed to Marín, purposefully.

" _Aleksander_ , this is Captain Gavran from the _Uhuru_. I have Admiral Marín and Lieutenant General Vermaak on board. Request priority docking."

"Priority request a-acknowledged," the _Aleksander_ 's adjutant said, its voice barely audible. "Awaiting priority approval." After a few moments, the adjutant spoke again. "R-r-request approved. Proceed to the s-starboard hangar, berth s-214."

"Sounds like a real rust-bucket," Vermaak said.

"It… has definitely seen better days," Marín said.

It was enough to break the tension. They sat in silence until the shuttle touched down. The hangar was crammed with marines and naval officers with barely room for any of the shuttles to touch down. Marín waited as Vermaak and Gavran finished putting on their hazmat suits. As the hatch opened, Marín expected the hangar to be loud with the sounds of a boisterous crew that was happy to be alive. Instead, there were only a few faint whispers. She looked around at them; many of them were pale and afraid. A murmuring started as she stepped out with Vermaak behind her. _Of course they're afraid—I was afraid when I came here. They probably think they're going to be infested._ But Marín knew that would not happen. She perhaps would have been more scared, she thought, if there had been time to think about it. _I should try to talk to them… assuage their fears… tell them about the decontamination protocols—for what good they really do._ In case of a real infestation, the decontamination process was useless. Not many knew it, but it was mostly a placebo in the case of infestations to keep people from being hysterical—and to detect those who really _were_ infested so they could be isolated. Part of being a commander, Marín knew, was to sometimes tell little white lies to keep the peace. Marín pulled a small footlocker out from under one of the benches in the back of the shuttle, placed it outside, and stood on it. She could see more of the crowd now. There were people standing even in the hallway.

"Okay, listen up everyone," she said, holding up a hand. The murmuring started to die down, but not fast enough. Vermaak whistled shrilly through his hazmat suits mic pickup. The noise in the hangar stopped.

"Thank you. Lieutenant General Vermaak and I are here to oversee your reassignments into the fleet. I know you're uncomfortable here, so to get everyone off as quickly as possible, we're putting you on shuttles from the four nearest ships—the _Uhuru_ , the _Liberté_ , the _Virtu_ , and the _Fuerza_. From there, you'll be assigned a new post. But before you return to duty, all of you will have to pass through a decontamination station…" A collective groan arose from the crowd. "…for your own safety. Hey, I've already been over here and through the decontamination protocols, and I'm fine. All of you will be too. Being here is better than the alternative, right? Queue up in an orderly fashion, relax, get bored, and we'll get you out of here as soon as we can." The murmur started again. "Wait, one last thing. Where's Admiral Augustin?" The collective chatter got louder. "Anyone?" No one answered.

 _That's not a good sign. Surely he got off the_ Vrede _. Surely he's here somewhere._

"I'm going to start rounding up the marines," Vermaak said, "get us out of this disgusting place." Marín nodded, letting him go. She grabbed the person nearest Gavran's shuttle and told them they were "first." She directed the people around him to find a place in "line." Gavran's shuttle filled, and he left. Another took its place. Marín moved on to another shuttle, creating another line. Vermaak was doing the same down at the far end with whatever marines he could find, directing them to two separate "lines." There were many more naval personnel than marines. Most of the marines that had left the ship for Tyrador had already been redirected after battle. She restricted one berth for just the injured to get them off the ship first.

As she worked, Marín felt slightly sick to her stomach. It smelled much worse in the hangar than it had on the bridge, it was dark, warm and damp, and the ground was a soft, soggy mess. It reminded her of the disgusting sea slugs that she would inevitably step on when swimming at the beach near her childhood home on Umoja. _At least I have shoes on this time_. But the infestation was also unavoidable here— _like a fleshy, living carpet,_ she thought.

Marín noticed that the murmuring in the hangar had stopped again and a quiet and a quiet was settling over the survivors. Someone was moving through the crowd, and everyone was giving the person a wide berth. Marín saw Stukov's ominous, twitching dorsal claws moving above the heads of her crew and realized he was coming to speak to her. As the crowd parted, she looked at him, somehow forgetting since she saw him last in person how intimidating he was. To her he looked like a damned creature—a demon out of a horror film. If she hadn't spoken to him on his ship or seen him almost break down when he learned his son was safe, she would definitely have thought him a monster. But, of course, he wasn't. He had saved the lives of many of those stationed on the _Vrede_ , and she suspected he had been pulling his punches on the ground at Tyrador. And, of course, he had kept Alarak from "glassing" the planet. She extended her hand to him and he took it. As she noticed before, his hand was feverishly warm. When she had taken his hand the first time they had met, she had thought she was just cold or scared. Now she knew it was him. _I would have thought he'd be cold—like a cadaver. I guess he is "alive."_ _Wait, are you reading my thoughts right now?_

"Good to see you in person again, Admiral Marín. Though I have to say I liked your outfit better last time."

"You're… not going to let me live that down, are you?" Marín said, glad he wasn't reading her thoughts.

"I have to say the UED uniform suited you as well. Black is definitely your color."

"And you…" She began, she was about to say something back about his shirt and jacket, which were stained with something glossy and purple-black. But then she realized it was his blood. He also had a newly-healed gash on his forehead just under the brim of his hat. "What happened to you? Are you injured?"

"Hm?" He looked down at himself. "Oh. I'm fine. Don't worry. I heal quickly."

"That's… comforting?" She saw Vermaak and motioned him to come over. "Are you sure you don't need medical assistance?"

"I doubt human medics could help me."

Vermaak stood beside Marín, adopting the wide-legged stance of a marine at ease, sizing up Stukov. Unconsciously, Stukov folded his infested arm behind him and his right arm in front as he straightened to his full height.

"Admiral Alexei Stukov, this is Lieutenant General Wynand Vermaak. He's in charge of our troops in Core Fleet."

"General Vermaak," Stukov extended his hand to him, and Vermaak warily took it.

"Admiral Stukov."

Stukov eyed him for a moment.

"You were the marine with the bike, weren't you? The one that drew Alarak away?"

Marín looked at Vermaak surprised. _Apparently, I'm not the only one hiding my heroics_.

"Huh. Yeah, that was me. Thanks for the ultralisk. Alarak would have sliced me in two if you hadna shown up."

"He almost had me as well," Stukov said, gesturing to his shirt. Marín could see Vermaak lightening up a bit. _Good. If we're going to work together, we at least need to start being civil_. But she could never see herself being civil with Valerian, and she dreaded when Valerian and Stukov would finally meet face-to-face.

"I have been looking for your commander… I… haven't found him," Stukov said.

"You don't think he went down with the ship, do you?" Vermaak asked, keeping his voice low.

"If there were still people to evacuate, and someone needed his help, it's a possibility," Marín said.

"There were roughly 300 people still onboard when I had to disengage. I wanted to hold out…"

"You couldn't have held out any longer, Admiral," Marín said.

"We'll wait and see when everyone is off the _Aleksander_. When the last man leaves, we will know," Stukov said.

"Right," Marín said unsteadily.

Marín, Vermaak, and Stukov sorted through the people on the hangar, sending them off in ships. Marín saw Gavran countless times, making the journey back and forth. It took hours. Marín's face was glossy with sweat, and her hair and undershirt were damp by the time the last person had left. Vermaak had to leave with the last of his marines, leaving Marín and Stukov alone on the deck as the last shuttles loaded. They stood staring at each other for a moment.

"There's no one else?" she asked.

"No one."

Marín sighed.

"I'm sorry, Admiral Marín."

Marín smoothed her hair. She felt dizzy now along with feeling tired, sweaty, and slightly nauseated.

"Who is next in the chain of command? Was Augustin's subordinate here?"

"Looks like none of the bridge crew made it off either… Not that it would matter… I'm technically Augustin's subordinate."

Stukov looked surprised for a moment.

"Oh, I see. Well. Congratulations," he said darkly.

"Don't… don't say that."

"Eh? It was a joke. I try to make light of dark times. I think it's a… what do you call it? 'Defense mechanism?'"

"I could use a few of those right now."

"What are you worried about? You seem confident in your command… It's just more ships."

"Yeah, and no one to tell me 'no.'"

Stukov laughed.

"What does that mean? You think you'll go mad with power?"

"No, no that's not what I meant."

Marín didn't want to discuss how she shouldn't have followed him on Tarsonis and how she shouldn't have thwarted his assassination and how she wasn't authorized to rescue his son. It would bolster his alliance to Umoja but threaten his relationship with the Terran Republic. _And he doesn't need another reason to hate Valerian_.

Marín changed the subject.

"Do you want to see your son? Now would be a good time."

Stukov looked down at himself. "Yes, but… I should change?"

"Uh, well… our ship's doctor is most likely going to make you go through the decontamination protocols."

"She must know I'm beyond what some antimicrobials would fix. It won't do me any good."

"Yes, but we both know it's not really to decontaminate anything stronger than a nasty virus. With infestation, it's just to make everyone feel a bit safer."

"Of course. I worked in a lab on Earth; I know how 'effective' they are all too well. There were all sorts of precautions against 'contamination.' If I knew then what I know now…"

"I'll call another shuttle."

"No need. We can take mine."

Marín found herself continually surprised by Stukov. She wasn't excited about being on an infested shuttle again, but despite his monstrous looks and occasional odd remarks, he seemed affable enough. He was quick witted and willing to help, but his manner was odd. Marín attributed this to his lack of contact with humans since the End War. But recent actions had reaffirmed his humanity, and she could picture the man he once was.

 _It just may take some coaxing to bring it out. I hope our allies have the patience to wait._

* * *

Both relieved and disappointed, Valerian watched from his chair on the bridge of the _Oppenheimer_ as the _Aleksander_ arrived safely at the rendezvous point. He was glad that the _Vrede_ had been at least partially evacuated, but he believed Stukov to be a liability at best and potentially dangerous at worst. Valerian lamented that his allies did not see what he saw, but they did not know him. They hadn't seen the recordings from Skygeirr. What they had done to him was horrific, but how he reacted, he recalled, was equally so. The inhuman screams, the threats and epitaphs howled at the staff psionically and verbally in two different languages—violent acts he promised to perpetrate and in some cases succeeded. He had managed to kill five men that were doctors and lab assistants at the facility while he was there. His main target had always been Narud, but he would kill anyone who got in his way—without question and usually with his bare hands or, worse, infestation.

 _And then, one day, he stopped. We finally thought we had broken him. He became civil—polite even. But… we hadn't realized we were feeding him by bringing more zerg to Skygeirr. The more zerg nearby, the more powerful he became, his psionic abilities finally reaching a point where he could read us—and easily escape. The escape itself had been almost bloodless, but then he returned with Kerrigan…_

Valerian shakily poured himself a glass of wine from a decanter on a table next to him. The images from the videos of the attack were the worst. Valerian was the only one who knew how calculated Stukov could be, and that his seeming humanity could be an act. _I need something else to think about… Horner will be here shortly, thankfully. I know he will be upset… I'm sure he wants to speak to me about the incident with Nova and Marín… It was… unfortunate it turned out the way it did. I never intended to_ hurt _Marín—quite the opposite. I thought getting her command codes from Vermaak would keep her_ out _of the fight_ _not put her back_ into _it._ But of course Valerian couldn't tell Horner that. He would just repent and swear to not do anything like it again. Though, he thought, if he had the chance, he would have done it all over but in a more cautious manner. Valerian ordered his adjutant to play something from his opera collection. He thought of Marín again, realizing he had probably lost and friendship he could have had with her because of the recent debacle.

 _Pity._

The adjutant began playing a selection from _Der fliegende Hollander_ , Senta singing the children's rhyme about the flying Dutchman, an undead sailor on a cursed ship.

"Adjutant, stop."

 _That's… too close to home…_

Despite thinking of her as perhaps a kindred spirit, Valerian was glad that Augustin was in charge and not Marín. Marín seemed too morally centered to do what needed to be done to secure peace in the sector. _She would do what was right—not perhaps what was ultimately best_. Augustin, he thought, may not have been much better in that regard, but he had more respect for Valerian and for Horner, which, Valerian reasoned, made him easier to persuade. Valerian reflected on the situation. He considered himself as playing the "long game." He was not convinced that the Terran Republic—even with Stukov and the Umojan Protectorate's help—would be able to repel the United Earth Directorate. But unlike his father, he welcomed the structure the represented if not their influence. If there was one thing the Directorate was good at, it was uniting disparate factions under one banner. _They are unyielding and oppressive, but effective_ , he thought. _And something that this sector needs_. If the Directorate conquered at least the human factions in the sector, Valerian would not be worried. The UED would provide infrastructure, force the Kel-Morians and the Umojan Protectorate to merge with the Terran Republic, standardize laws ( _Albeit unpopular ones,_ Valerian thought), and return Earth's long cultural history to the Koprulu sector.

 _But it will overextend its reach—and it will fall._ Valerian thought the UED's approach to the Koprulu sector ridiculously myopic. They should have known, he thought, that any foray into the Koprulu sector with the aim of keeping it under direct rule would fail. _Maybe for fifty, a hundred years it might be stable… but empires can extend only so far. Rome, for instance. The Ottoman Empire. The USSR. The United Americas…_ What would be left, he hoped, after the inevitable rebellion, would be a strong, unified government presiding over _all_ the colonies for the greater prosperity of all of them. _I may not live to see it, but if the UED does succeed…_ He knew Marinakis would not be up to the task of ruling the sector. _They would need someone else…_

Valerian would not be disappointed if the Terran Republic survived; he would continue to aid his friends, _but hey have never understood my vision…_

Valerian's adjutant notified him that Horner was aboard. He stood, draining his glass and steeling himself, ready to tell his friend what he wanted to hear and what would keep him, for now, in his good graces.

* * *

It had been the first time in many years that Stukov had been on an uninfested battlecruiser with a full human crew. The _Uhuru_ was a smaller ship overall, built for speed and for exploration—not necessarily combat. It reminded him of the ships he served on as a young man. The sound of his boots on the deck as he stepped out of his shuttle gave him a strange feeling, like he had stepped backwards in time, or worse, he was somewhere he didn't belong. Oddly, on the _Kuznetsov_ he hadn't felt it. It had been familiar and he had felt nostalgia, but now he was keenly aware that he might be regaining something that he had lost. The hangar was alive with noise. Engineers and flight deck mechanics in hazmat gear were spraying down shuttles parked in the hangar. Hazmat-wearing naval officers were guiding "contaminated" crew into temporary checkpoint structures covered in sterile sheet plastic. To Stukov, it seemed that their spirits had lifted since leaving the _Aleksander_. He didn't blame them. _The_ Aleksander _is a shrine to the horrors of the zerg, and I am the minor demigod that resides there. They must feel "safe" now they are with their people._ Stukov looked around again. Some of the _Vrede's_ crew was hovering around stations set around the hangar, conversing and laughing. He realized the tables held rations and beverages. _Or maybe it's just because they have coffee now._ But despite the demeanor of the people around him, he felt a peculiar anxiety. He wasn't human and felt out of place, but even more distressing, he realized he couldn't read them. It was a nakedness and vulnerability he was not used to. _Someone could attack me right now, and I would not see it coming._

Marín exited the shuttle and stood beside him.

"Something wrong?"

"No… I haven't been on a battlecruiser in a long time. Or around this many people."

"I didn't peg you as someone who would have 'social anxiety.'"

"It's not that. I'm not exactly 'human' anymore—I don't know if you've noticed," he said sarcastically, "some people take great umbrage at that."

"You've saved most of these people's lives. I don't think you have to worry about any of them."

"What the _hell_ is _that_?" A woman in a grease-covered hazmat uniform stalked towards them. Stukov tensed, his mind readying a few barbs of his own, but she walked past him, eyeing his shuttle. "Did you really bring this… infested… pulsing… wad of metal and… _gross_ into my hangar, Admiral? How does this thing even _fly_?" She said, addressing Marín.

'It's… complicated," Stukov said.

"Dani, this is Admiral Alexei Stukov. Admiral, this is our chief engineer, Danica Jansa."

"Engineer Jansa."

"Dani's fine," she said, futilely wiping grease off her gloves onto her suit. She made a move to extend her hand to him but thought better of it. "Yeah, sorry."

"Not a problem."

"There's a separate lane for higher-ups down at the end of the hangar. It's good that you brought Admiral Stukov. Horner wants to meet, and Ahlberg suggested here since it was going to take you and Admiral Augustin time to get out of decontam. They're going to use the port hangar. The protoss are having transmat issues, but they'll be here later. Where is Augustin, by the way?"

Stukov and Marín looked at one another.

"Uh, we'll… talk about that later."

"All right," Jansa said, not comprehending. "If you'll excuse me, I've got an infested shuttle to isolate, _thank you very much_."

Jansa walked away, shouting to some other engineers and waving them over.

"We should get moving if they want to meet. You'll see your son I promise, but... we may have to go afterwards

"Fine."

Stukov followed Marin through the hangar. The crowds of men and women parted either in deference to their commander or in revulsion of him. Again, he was uncomfortable that he could not tell the difference.

As he walked, he studied the regular decontam units. The checkpoints setup for the bulk of the survivors were chaotic. He caught a glimpse of a few of them in the antechamber hastily disrobing. He could hear water running and the echoes of men and women talking to each other as they showered _en masse_. Stukov was glad to bypass at least the communal aspect of the protocol. As a human it wouldn't have bothered him, but now he was not comfortable with others knowing the extent of his infestation.

They arrived at the decontamination protocol checkpoint. It was smaller and only had room for one or two people. Stukov panicked slightly as he realized she may expect him to go in with her. He had no idea what Umojans' customs were regarding nudity and hadn't seen a segregated line for men and women in the regular crewman facilities. The zerg didn't really have a concept of modesty, he thought, but for some reason the idea of her seeing his infested body made him uncomfortable. _I'm already repulsive enough without her seeing where the zerg flesh burrows in my own… the creep dripping down my arm… and the scars…_

"So, I'm sure you've been through something like this before especially if you've work with hazardous biological specimens in a lab…" Marín said, turning to him. "There are five rooms. One to disrobe and discard your clothing, one that sprays a chemical you're supposed to scrub yourself with, a shower to rinse it off, an ultraviolet light room, and the last is a room with a biomed scanner. There will be some generic uniforms at the end. Help yourself."

"Will I get my clothes back?"

"Eventually, yes. Whenever you're ready…"

"Ladies first."

"Such chivalry," Marín said sarcastically. "I'll see you on the other side."

Stukov waited until he heard the spray from the antimicrobial room activate and entered the antechamber, glad that the Umojans had some sense of propriety—or at least that Marín was polite enough not to the press the issue. This was, for the most part, what he didn't want her to see. He slipped his right arm out of his jacket and retracted the claws on his back through the holes they had made in it. Setting his teeth and gripping his jacket by the collar above his infested arm, he ripped the jacket off with a feral growl. Creep and infestation came with it. His arm was raw and bleeding again. He could see his shirt under it, soaked in blood and ichor. The shirt came off more easily since the jacket had loosened the growth on his arm. As the tissue on the jacket and shirt died, it sloughed off and decayed quickly, leaving only a trace on the floor. His uniform looked dirty and was caked with his blood but was more recognizable now except for the holes in the back and the slit up the arm of his left sleeve. Stukov finished undressing and put all his clothing in a receptacle by the door.

As he stepped into the next section, a motion sensor triggered the antimicrobial spray. It stung the skin of his infested arm, bubbling and boiling disconcertingly where it met his blood. Ignoring it, he worked it methodically into his skin, lathering it over his chest and abdomen. He had done this almost every day for years in the research lab before going home to his family; he wore a radiation monitor as well. Of course, the antimicrobials would do nothing for him, he mused. He was contaminated beyond all help. The artifact that had cured Kerrigan had been destroyed and the Protoss cure proved to be useless (though he suspected after Narud had been outed as Duran that he had a hand in his re-infestation). Finished, he walked into the shower room, ruminating what mechanisms Narud could have used to defeat the cure. Without thinking, he didn't check to see if the shower room as still occupied and walked in while Marín was inside. Her eyes were closed and her head down, facing him. Her chest was heaving, and her hands were clasped behind her neck as water cascaded down through her hair and over her body. _Is she crying?_ Stukov realized the weight of the day must have hit her. He turned quickly on his heel and walked back into the antimicrobial room. It was not the first misstep he had made that day, he lamented. He castigated himself inwardly for saying what he did about Augustin; he was glad that she hadn't seen him walk in, glad to avoid whatever awkwardness that would have caused. Stukov waited for the spray on the shower room to stop. When it finally did, he looked furtively inside before walking in. The shower made him jump when it came on. It was very cold, probably to entice whoever was in it to rinse quickly and leave. To him it was cold, but it didn't _make_ him cold. Whether it was cold or hot mattered little to him in his infested state.

He waited again until he saw the ultraviolet lights in the other room switch off. After the cold of the shower room, the warmth of the ultraviolet was welcome, but again it slightly burned the skin on his back and infested arm. Finally, he walked through the last stage, the biomed scanner. It was a grey metal frame two meters wide and three-and-a-half meters tall. There was a small holographic projection that showed him moving as he put his feet on the small footprint markers on its base and spread his arms towards the palm icons that were painted on the sides. The holographic display began reading his vitals, each measurement turning red. It couldn't find his pulse (he had none), or register his breathing (because he wasn't), and his body temperature was well above normal (42C)—due to his human flesh's constant state of "fighting" his infection. He heard the scanner start and watched its progress on his holographic representation as it worked its way down his body. Multiple red dots appeared across his head and chest; he started chuckling to himself as the scanner found more and more infestation and displayed multiple dire warnings. A loud alarm began to go off, and he heard the door behind him and the to the next room, the chamber where he would re-dress, lock. Now he was standing naked in a locked room. Stukov sighed. He was caught. _I should have known this would happen._ In his own lab, if someone was infested (and it had never occurred, as far as he knew—they had never gotten a live subject), the protocol would have been to isolate them and then put them out of their misery one way or another. Gas, he thought, was used. Then the body would be incinerated. _Hopefully that's not automated_. _But even that wouldn't kill me. I could get out of here if I wanted to…_ But he decided to wait to see what the Umojans would do.

A voice came over the intercom.

"Uh, so, you've triggered some automatic security measures. Our doctor is looking for a way to override them," Marín said. "Just sit tight, and I'm sure we'll get you out soon."

He heard arguing from outside: two women, one of them Marín and the other he didn't recognize. After a few moments, the door unlocked. A tall woman with long, stringy black hair and an impossibly white complexion stepped in. Her eyes were a ghostly blue, and, he realized, synthetic. She looked him up and down in a clinical manner, a parcel under her arm. Her neutral expression unchanging, she raised an eyebrow at him as she finished looking him over.

"I'm Dr. Amie Laurent, chief medical officer here. Admiral Marín has requested that I let you go, and against my better judgement, I am. I had to fake a medical emergency to get the door open; don't make me wish that I hadn't. Keep all of…" Dr. Laurent gestured to Stukov's infestation, "that… to yourself." She tossed the parcel to him and he caught it. "Or you'll at best get a more 'personal' examination, at worst I'll make sure you're never on this ship again. Do you understand?"

"Of course. Everyone has come back clean, yes? I'm not a threat to this ship."

"Well, let's keep it that way." She left, leaving the door ajar. _Now I feel like I've met a proper Umojan_ , he thought to himself ruefully. _Dour, humorless, acerbic—and a cyborg_.

Inside the package was a pair of black boots, some undergarments, and a rank-less Umojan uniform: a grey, Nehru-necked jacket with an asymmetrical zipper and teal trim, a teal shirt, and grey pants with a matching stripe. Compared to the uniforms he was used to, he mused, _They looked like pajamas._ He put on the shirt and the jacket, ripping the sleeves to accommodate his arm and slicing through the back with his scythe-like dorsal claws.

He walked into the last chamber. It had a mirror in it and stacks of uniforms like the one he was wearing. She must have looked at his scan to determine what size he wore—even his shoes. Stukov looked at himself briefly in the mirror. The light grey of the uniform made him look monochromatic, and the pants were more fitted than he would have liked, but for now, his arm was not soaking the uniform jacket's arm with creep, and if he turned his head the right way and kept his mouth shut, he could almost pass as human.

 _Except for the eyes._

He straightened his jacket and walked out into the corridor. Marín was leaning against the wall studying a datapad and waiting for him, her hair still damp and pulled back into a low ponytail. She put the datapad down and eyed him.

"Looks good on you," she said.

"If you say so. I wonder what your comrades will say seeing me in an Umojan uniform?"

"Nothing, if they know why. Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No, but I would like my clothes back."

"You'll get them back. I'll make sure of it. Amie threatened to incinerate them, and I told her not to."

"She's… less than friendly."

"Old Umojan family. She can trace her lineage all the way back to the ark to a 'degenerate' activist of some note. Her family is the closest we get to 'blue bloods.' Some Umojans fancy themselves aristocrats and are like that to outsiders. Once she warms up to you, she's fine." Marín looked at the datapad. "We should go. They're waiting for us."

Stukov and Marín walked through the corridor towards the bridge. Because he had on an Umojan uniform, many of the people walking by, most of them studying datapads, did not realize he was "different" until they got close and maneuvered conspicuously around him. Marín pretended not to notice but gave one ensign a particularly dirty look when he overreacted. A feeling similar to what he felt in the hangar came to him again, but this time without a feeling of anxiety. The entire experience was surreal to him, walking down a battlecruiser hallway after so many years. The colors were different and the corridors were smaller, but the quiet and constant noise of the battlecruiser's engines made him feel oddly at home. Marín turned to him, seeming to notice that he was lost in thought.

"You okay?"

"Yes… Just admiring the ship."

It suddenly struck him that he should be the one asking about her wellbeing. She was the one who had just lost her commander. Marín turned a corner and stopped at an elevator.

"I'm… sorry about your commander. Were you close?"

Marín's demeanor changed. She looked suddenly tired.

"Yes… I served under him as his XO until I was promoted to the command of Core Fleet. Before that, most of my tours had been on the _Vrede_. I was a wraith pilot… if you couldn't tell."

"That's an… interesting career path."

"It's not something that would have happened on a Dominion battlecruiser for sure, but I switched over to helm and then command. Thierry saw something in me and basically made my career. He was my friend, but he was also my mentor. I… I don't know what to do without him. And I don't know how I'm going to break it to the fleet."

He found himself identifying with her. He could not help but relate what was happening now to his own experience in the Expeditionary Fleet. _If the reverse had happened—if Gerard had somehow died instead of me—wouldn't I have felt the same?_ But, he realized, he would not have been questioning himself. _I have a few years on her. How old is she? Thirty-five? Too young for an admiral, much less a_ fleet _admiral_. _This sector has been at war for many years. When that many die, the young inevitably must command—whether they are ready or not._

The lift opened and both entered.

"I'm sorry—about what I said earlier. Up until shortly before my death, I was close with my commander as well. When I was human, I wouldn't have made light of your situation. You'll have to be patient with me. I… will not react in a way that you expect all the time."

An emotion flitted across Marín's face as she looked at him. Suddenly, she reached over and hit the emergency stop on the lift. The lift began emitting a piercing whine because the stop was engaged. It caused the zerg mind in him to panic. He had to exert some energy to calm it. Over the noise, Marín began to speak.

"Look, I haven't been totally frank with you, and if we're going to have a productive partnership, I feel like I need to… warn you about a few things."

"Warn me? About what?"

"You no doubt noticed there are Moebius ships in our fleet."

"Yes, but Moebius is gone. The Terran Republic…"

"No, they were not commandeered by the Terran Republic. And Moebius is _not_ gone."

"What? Amon pulled them into the Void. They were destroyed…"

"The ships were. The organization was not—because Valerian Mengsk still owned it."

"Valerian? What are you saying?"

Stukov's eyes narrowed. He felt a violent, cold rage wash over him. Marín seemed to sense it and flattened herself against the wall.

"He's here, isn't he? Those _ships_ …" He growled.

"Admiral Stukov…"

"I will make him wish…" he began, imagining the violent death he would inflict upon Valerian for the many years of pain he endured. He clenched his fists and held them in front of his chest. Unbidden, he could feel his arm fill with posion. It would be the final loose end. Marín grabbed him by both wrists, her hand not even spanning the one on his "zerg" side. Stukov was startled by the gesture, particularly the fact that she would risk touching his infestation.

"Please don't. We need him, and we need you. When this is over, I'd like nothing better than to see you, I don't know, maybe not _kill_ him but at least give him a good scare. Hell, I'll help."

Stukov was silent for a moment. The lift was still emitting the shrill, annoying noise, making it hard for him to think. The anger left him. He unclenched his fists and sighed.

"For now, I'll put it aside… But after this is done…"

"Don't tell me; I don't want to know. There's… actually more to it, but we can talk after you've seen your son… Maybe over a drink."

"I don't drink anymore."

"I didn't say it was for you."

"Hah, now I want to know what you will say."

"I assure you that you don't."

She released the emergency stop and the lift continued to the bridge. Marín walked out first, and when Stukov exited, all activity on the bridge stopped. Horner was standing near the _Uhuru's_ war table conversing with Vermaak and a tall, dark woman that he did not know. On the far side of the bridge was Valerian, still in his imperial finery, keeping Horner between the two of them in line of sight. Marín, undeterred, walked to the war table. Stukov followed slowly, his eyes on Valerian. _Let him sweat a little_. Valerian took a step back as he advanced. _Yes, little prince, your past is about to catch up with you. Not now, but soon._ He smiled at him.

"Valerian."

"A-admiral Stukov. You're looking… Well?"

"Hah. I'm sure I am _not._ Save me your platitudes. They are as insincere as they are inapt, and we have no time for them."

"I agree. But we do need to get some introductions out of the way… Admiral Stukov, you know Admiral Matt Horner," Marín said.

"Yes, Admiral Horner…" Stukov shook Horner's hand.

"I'm glad you made it. Got a little hairy back there."

"Indeed. The Directorate's additions to the battlefield and their alliance with Alarak will be hard to overcome."

"You've met Vermaak… And Valerian… This is General Jane Oyaleni…"

Stukov waited for Oyaleni to extend her hand, but when she didn't, he nodded to her.

"General…"

"Admiral Stukov," she said coldly.

"Well, it looks like we're all here… Where is Fleet Admiral Augustin?" Horner said.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Stukov looked to Marín. Her face was slightly flushed; it was obviously hard for her to finally say what she needed to say. _It will be real then_ , he thought. Marín sighed.

"Fleet Admiral Thierry Augustin… Is missing in action, and most likely went down with the _Vrede_ … None of his bridge crew has been found either. They must have stayed with the ship and were lost when we ran out of time."

Vermaak's expression didn't change. Stukov surmised that the reality of his death had most likely occurred to him when Marín came on the bridge without their commander. Oyaleni put her hand to her mouth slowly, registering mild surprise. Horner looked stricken, but Valerian was lost in thought. _No doubt he is trying to figure out how he can use this to his advantage._

"My condolences, Admiral Marín… General Vermaak, General Oyaleni. This war is turning out to be a costly one—not just in resources but personally," Horner said. Valerian gave him a chiding look as if not thinking his words were enough. Valerian turned his blue eyes to Marín, throwing his cloak behind him, causing it to sway.

"I'm so, so sorry for your loss, Renata. I gather you were close? This must be a difficult time for you."

Stukov rolled his eyes at Valerian's obvious false sincerity. Marín's back stiffened. He wished he could see the look on her face

"Thanks. It is. But it could have been worse. By Stukov's estimate, there were around 300 people still aboard the _Vrede_ when it finally was abandoned. If we hadn't already been evacuating and Stukov had not intervened, the number of crew lost would have been around 3,000. Augustin traded his life with one of those 3,000. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same."

"I hate to ask, but who is in line to take his place?" Horner asked uncertainly.

"I am."

Valerian shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable. _He doesn't like that answer. Good._

"Out of the question," Oyaleni said suddenly. "From what I've learned of what you've been up to, you should be up for a court martial, not a promotion."

Marín was clearly surprised by her reaction. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"You deserted the fleet on Tarsonis to follow Admiral Stukov and then _didn't_ kill him, which would have saved us all a world of trouble…"

"Am I not standing right here? Why are you talking like I'm not standing in front of you?" Stukov said incredulously.

"Right. You are. And in a _fucking_ Umojan uniform even."

"I went through decontam like the 3,000 other people who were aboard my ship. I didn't have a choice. Would you prefer me naked?" Stukov said.

"I would prefer you not be here at all! You should have remained on your ship where you can't spread your disease around."

"My _disease_?" Stukov said, starting to laugh, "Oh, it's much worse than a disease. If I wanted to infest this ship, it would already be infested." Stukov thought about elaborating on what that process would entail and how he hoped that if she were ever infested she would repeat that soliloquy in brain death, but he was pretty sure that was the Swarm talking and that he should keep that to himself.

"Have you infested Admiral Marín?" Oyaleni said. "That would explain some things."

Both Stukov and Marín vehemently answered "no" at once.

"I _just_ went through a biomed scanner. You can ask Dr. Laurent if you want the results," Marín said quickly. "And that was uncalled for. If you can't be civil, you'll be the one that isn't on the bridge when we make decisions."

"I'm not done," Oyaleni said. "What about that stunt you pulled with Nova? What was that about? Again, you deserted your fleet to, what, get Stukov on our side? Fat lot that did us, yeah? Man got taken down by a science vessel and lost his fleet."

"Again, Stukov saved 3,000 people. And his interference on the ground on Tyrador saved a _city from being glassed_. And I might not be standing here—or you, or any of us—if Stukov's units had been wielded against us instead of being lost."

Stukov said nothing. He had been trying to not cause human casualties, but, he admitted, if the _Uhuru_ or the _Hyperion_ had gotten in his way, he would have destroyed them.

"Just for the sake of conversation… Is there anyone else in the fleet that has experience comparable to your own, Admiral Marín?" Valerian said calmly.

"No, that is why I lead Core Fleet. Augustin and I had roughly equal positions, but Edge Fleet was larger and he of course had more years of service… I would defer to him when a decision involved both fleets, and when the two fleets merged during combat, he became my superior."

"Who is the commander of the _Liberté_?

"Vice Admiral Mullenix," Vermaak said quickly.

"Yes, but he doesn't outrank me. And he may have more years but, he probably has less combat experience."

"We should talk to him," Oyaleni said, ignoring Marín and speaking to Vermaak and Valerian.

"You don't have the authority to sidestep me."

"We do if you're unfit," Oyaleni said angrily.

"Unfit? How am I unfit?"

Horner turned wide-eyed to Stukov. Stukov gave him a sideways glance. Neither of them knew what to do. To Stukov they seemed like they were bickering with Marín like unruly children. But Stukov knew better than to wade in—at least for now. He didn't want it to seem like he and Marín were closely aligned. They weren't, and if they thought they were, they may trust her less. _They already thought I had infested her_.

"You can't prioritize your fleet's command over your personal heroics, that's how," Oyaleni said.

"I see Oyaleni's point," Valerian interjected, "and I don't see the harm in vetting other candidates if they have more experience."

"More experience?" Marín said, finally getting angry. "Don't talk to me about experience, Valerian. I don't remember you having any military experience before your father handed you a fleet, and no one's questioning _your_ command right now."

"Okay, okay, stop. All of you," Horner said. "If Marín is the next in line for command, that's the end of the discussion. She's the most senior officer in the fleet, and I'm not sure if you've noticed, but all those 'reckless' bets she's made have all paid off."

"But Matt, there's no harm in at least _looking…_ " Valerian started.

Stukov finally exhausted his patience and interrupted Valerian, speaking at a volume that was just under yelling.

"Enough! If any of you think that Admiral Marín is not fit to lead this fleet, then you are a fool. You can present as many 'candidates' as you wish, but I will not negotiate with anyone other than Admiral Marín."

"Be reasonable," Valerian started, "we must…"

"Neither will I," Horner said firmly, looking away from Valerian and at Stukov.

"What?" Valerian said, stunned. Horner turned to him, looking him square in the eye.

"Neither. Will. I," Horner said again. "I agree with Stukov. Marín just did what needed to be done. There's no reason to be questioning her command."

"And none of you have the authority to do so anyway," Marín said. "After this meeting, I'm going to radio back to command and tell them the situation. At that time, they will most likely adjust my clearance, issue me new command codes, and verify my field promotion—because there's no reason not to. Until then, I'm acting Fleet Admiral. Now, we should probably get to doing what we originally set out to do in this meeting: determine our next steps."

Admiral Marín was interrupted by the chime of the ship's comm. It was the _Spear of Adun._

"This is Phase-smith Karax, Admiral Marín. Our transmat system has been successfully repaired. Are you ready to receive Hierarch Artanis?"

"Yes, Karax. Send him over."

In a beam of light, Artanis appeared.

"You're just in time, Hierarch. We were just about to start discussing our battleplans."

"Excellent. Greetings, everyone… Where is Admiral Augustin?"

"Uh, well, he was lost with the _Vrede._ I… am acting fleet admiral," Marín said quickly.

"Oh… My condolences," he bowed to her slightly, "I look forward to working with you more closely, Admiral Marín."

For all the sarcastic things Stukov said about the protoss's penchant for self-righteousness, the Daelaam respected authority and had an unquestioning loyalty to their superiors—and their allies. He considered it refreshing after what he had just witnessed.

"Would you like to start, Admiral Horner?" Marín said.

"Right," Horner said quickly. "Our situation has gone from bad to worse. Tarsonis has fallen and so has Tyrador. Both locations give the Directorate access to several shipyards, though Admiral Stukov's interference on the ground has thankfully limited their access to civilians they could force into service. The bright side is that we've effectively stopped the UED fleet at Tyrador for now. We need to press that advantage."

"Would it be prudent then to backtrack and try to liberate Tarsonis? Perhaps then they would split their forces and be easier to defeat," Valerian said.

"Yes, that had crossed my mind. We'd have to act quickly though, before the Directorate has time to get Tyrador's shipyards up and running. What kind of numbers do we have now?"

"The _Spear of Adun_ is operational, but we are down to only a few carriers at the moment. We are already working on ground forces and warping in more carriers. We could be ready in seventy-two of your hours."

"New ships are coming from Moebius momentarily. We'll be back to our original strength in roughly the same amount of time."

"The ships we requested before the battle of Tyrador are _en route_. They should be here in a few hours. We won't be back to pre-Tarsonis numbers, but we'll have more ships than when we attacked Tyrador," Marín said.

"Obviously, the Terran Republic has been hindered by the occupation of our shipyards. I'm confident that I can, uhh, cash in a few chips to bring in some 'paramilitary' forces," Horner said.

"As some of you have noted, I'm without a fleet. I have lost a leviathan, so I am less… mobile," Stukov began. "But the infested are everywhere, and I will raise whatever forces I need at Tarsonis. There was a recent battle there, and surely there will be…"

Oyaleni cut him off. "I was under the impression that our 'alliance' with you meant you would stop using infested forces."

Stukov was silent for a moment. He had forgotten. That _had_ been a sticking point that Marín warned him about, though they had not made a formal "deal" in which he would pledge to not use infested forces.

"We don't really have time for moral equivocating if we want to retake Tarsonis now."

"Can't you just summon the zerg like you do the infested?" Oyaleni said dubiously.

"I am not Kerrigan; I cannot broadcast my thoughts across the sector and summon the zerg to me. I can call the infested because I _am_ infested. And the zerg do not answer to the infested. The zerg have an overqueen whom you all know: Zagara. Most zerg are aligned with her. There are feral zerg that I can subdue and command, and I have my own hatcheries on Braxis that Abathur has bred to only respond to me, but that would require me _returning to Braxis_ and starting anew."

"How long will that take?" Horner asked. Stukov hesitated, knowing they would not like his answer. He was also slightly embarrassed.

"Two weeks at best," Stukov said finally.

Horner whistled. "We don't have that much time."

"I… don't know what to tell you. If I can't use my infested…"

"What about bringing Zagara to the fight? We have given her assistance before. Perhaps now it is time for us to, as Horner says, cash in our ships?" Artanis said hopefully.

"Chips," Horner said, correcting him, "I don't know, Artanis. We haven't heard from the zerg in a while."

"I do not think that the zerg will aid us. At least not directly. Kerrigan was human and cared about our affairs whether she would admit it or not. Zagara has no reason to aid us. The human factions in this sector are interchangeable to her. So what if a new one moves in and overthrows the others?"

"Are you saying you're useless to us then?" Oyaleni said.

"No, I just need more time," Stukov said, angered.

"Well, we _don't have it_."

A thought occurred to Stukov. Zagara may not care about human factions, but she did care about the factions that existed within the zerg. Before Kerrigan had united them, Zagara had been a thorn in her side as had other broodqueens. The zerg worked together, but they could also be clannish if their broods became too genetically isolated. If he could use that to his advantage, he might be able to put together a pure zerg force more quickly.

"There is… another option, though I don't know if it will work… and it will still take more than seventy-two hours."

"What is it?"

"I will go to Zagara and speak with her. I believe I can talk her into committing some of her forces to our cause. But I will need assistance. Can I rely on the Umojan fleet to escort me to zerg space?"

"We are already…"

"General Oyaleni, I don't believe you are in command of the Umojan Navy. If you have a complaint, you can lodge it formally. In writing. What kind of forces do you need?"

"A few battlecruisers and their accompanying marines. There will be some zerg hunting involved."

"I thought you said we're going to _speak_ to Zagara, not _attack_ her," Marín said.

"We're not… Just a little… cleaning house. Trust me, I know what I'm doing. I should be back with an invasion force in… five days? In the meantime, Horner can call in his favor, and we can buy more time assaulting some of the Terran Republic shipyards that are under UED control. Maybe get them back for stealing all those battlecruisers when they were here the first time."

"They? Wasn't that 'you?'" Horner said.

"Ehh, maybe? I don't quite recall…" Stukov said, smirking. It was him. He didn't think Horner would catch that.

"Hitting the shipyards isn't a bad idea… Can Moebius field that?" Horner said, turning to Valerian.

"Yes. It's probably best if I go anyway… Both shipyards were overhauled during my reign. I know their layouts particularly well."

"Good. Sounds like a plan is coming together. Artanis, if you can keep your forces here and protect us while we wait by the _Beynac_ , I think we'll be in good shape to move on Tarsonis in a few days. Questions?"

"I don't have a question, more of a statement. In honor of Admiral Augustin and his crew, I'm going to put together a memorial service for when we return from zerg space. All of you are welcome—Vorazun too, if she wants. I'll have more details later."

"We would be honored to attend," Artanis said quickly.

"We'll be there with bells on," Horner said.

"Thanks. I think we can adjourn, don't you?"

Horner, Artanis, Valerian, and Oyaleni left the bridge; only Stukov, Vermaak, and Marín remained. Vermaak looked as though he wanted to speak to her, but she was giving him the cold shoulder.

"I need to tell the kids they can come back up," Marín said. She spoke into the comm, recalling the bridge crew. "Meetings like that are recorded—all 'public' areas of Umojan ships are electronically monitored—but protocol dictates junior officers can't be on the bridge during them. I'm also glad they weren't. All I needed was my XO or communications officer jumping in to my defense. Thanks, by the way. It's too bad the senior members of my own fleet couldn't do the same." She looked pointedly at Vermaak. Stukov recalled him saying very little, but he figured they must have been friends for her to have taken his silence so poorly. Her passive aggressive jab also seemed out of character.

"I have a promise to keep to you, Admiral. I'll take you to your son."

They took the elevator down into the bowels of the ship and walked to the middle of the ship—away from the engines, the computer core, the armory, and anything else that an escaped prisoner might want to get into—and down an isolated corridor. When she and Stukov entered, a guard at the door hastily stood and saluted. Marín told him to relax.

"We're here to see Gregory Stukov. Is he awake?"

"Yeah, and not very happy," the guard said.

"Not surprising. Has he… done anything I should know about?"

"He's refusing to eat. Keeps trying to take his psi dampener off…"

"You've got a psi dampener on him?" Stukov said, alarmed.

"He attacked me and Nova. It's just a precaution. When he calms down, we'll take it off. Hell, when he calms down I'll let him out if you want. But he hasn't yet, has he?"

"Nope! Threw his chair at me when I went in."

Stukov frowned. "I'll… try to talk to him."

"Good luck with that," the guard said.

"I'll let you in then give you some privacy. You won't be able to get into the cell with him, but that's probably for the best. I'll be back in an hour. I need to contact command and make some arrangements. Then we'll get that drink I was talking about. I probably need at least two now."

"I don't blame you," Stukov said. Marín turned to open the brig's door with her palm print. "Wait. I never said thank you."

"For what?"

"All of this. Not attacking me at Tarsonis. Listening to me even when I abducted you. For rescuing my son. And for being honest with me."

Marín sighed. "Well, you haven't even heard all the 'honesty' yet. But you're welcome, for what it's worth. I did it for selfish reasons, most of it."

"For your people is not selfish. And I would have done the same."

 _I did do the same. And I was killed for it_.

She looked at him for a moment, and he felt something connect. He became more aware of his grotesque shape than he usually was and in a different way. Stukov was more often than not pleased by his zerg attributes and their capabilities and appreciated the power of his infested form. But right now he was repulsed. She was looking at him, and he thought about the gashes in his cheek, the creep he felt still oozing from his arm, the claws twitching on his back, and the demonic glow of his eyes. Earlier he had thought he could pass as human. Now, he knew that was not the case. Stukov knew he was a monster—and he had come to terms with it. But now it felt like a curse again.

"Well, at least we're on the same page, I guess," Marín said.

Marín opened the door to the brig for Stukov and left. Stukov entered with some apprehension, wondering what he should say to his son. There were only a few cells in the brig, and it didn't look like the room had been used much. He heard two women talking and recognized the voices. He walked through the cell block and found Dauphin and KD in cells across from one another. He put his hands on his hips and looked at them, feigning disapproval.

"I can't decide whether you two are the _luckiest_ or _unluckiest_ women in the UED fleet."

"Oh, fuck you," KD said.

"KD…" Dauphin walked up to the transparent energy barrier keeping her in her cell. Both women were in white jumpsuits with attached booties. They looked like they were wearing footie pajamas. _I don't understand the aesthetic of Umojan clothing_.

"How are you, Carolyn?"

"Fine. Better, to be honest. I'm not on the front lines, and these people seem nice enough."

"Good."

"KD isn't doing well. She wants to go home." Stukov turned to look at KD and she was curled up on the cot in her cell. Dauphin sighed and continued, "She blames you, but she'll get over it."

"Of course she does."

"But you're here to see Gregory, right?"

"Yes…"

"Well… Maybe he'll talk to you. I can't get him to talk to me."

Marín and the guard had warned him about his son, and now so had Dauphin. He wondered what was wrong and if he could help him. _He's probably homesick—like KD_. He turned the corner and saw him. Gregory was laying on the cot in his cell, his eyes closed, his arms behind his head. Around his neck was the psi dampener keeping him from liberating himself from the cell.

When Stukov had seen him on Earth the last time, he had been a child. He could see the child in the man he saw before him. His peaceful face at rest reminded him of the many nights when he would quietly steal into his children's room while they were asleep, looking in on them in the dark. He didn't often see them awake; he came home late and left early because of the lab and the important research he did with the zerg there. Later, when his drinking became a problem and his relationship with his wife became tense, he would stay at the lab. And then he left for the Koprulu sector. His older children he had been more of a father to, and so he was surprised that Gregory had recognized his voice.

The ship's intercom came on, and he turned away to listen. It was Admiral Marín expressing her condolences to the fleet and discussing his funeral arrangements. While he was listening, the light above him flickered. He turned slowly back to Gregory. He was standing in his cell now, watching Stukov.

"Gregory… I…" he didn't know what to say. It had been so long, and there were so many questions, but he didn't know where to start. Stukov wanted to ask him what happened to his mother, what had happened to them after she passed, how his siblings were doing before he left, when he found out he was a "degenerate," what he wanted to do with his life, and what he wanted to do now. He decided to start cautiously. "Are they treating you… well?"

Gregory didn't answer. He stared at Stukov, unblinking. When he finally spoke, he ignored the question.

"What _are_ you?"

"I'm… infested. I died protecting the fleet, but my body was taken by the zerg, and I was resurrected. But I'm still your father. Most infested aren't so lucky. They don't stay the person they were."

"Are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you really the person you were—my father?"

"Of course I am."

"How do you know?"

"I… don't understand. I'm standing right here. You can see who I am."

"You are a virus animating a corpse."

"Gregory, I'm your father. I love you. Please believe me."

"You want me to believe you? Then let me read your mind," Gregory said, pointing to his dampener collar. For a moment, Stukov was tempted. It would be an easy thing to defeat the cell's lock with his infestation, but that would be a violation of the promise he had made the ship's doctor and what little trust there was between him and the Umojans. He wanted to go into the cell with him and be near him, thinking that may make him change his mind. If he could read him, he may see that he was telling the truth. But he wasn't a fool.

"I'm not doing that, Gregory. What will you do? Incapacitate me? Kill me? You'd kill your own father?"

"My father died and was a hero. I didn't train for years and sign on for this mission to come out here to find a _monster_ sullying his name."

"Gregory…"

"And making _me_ look like a traitor too."

"Reeves would have _killed_ you."

"I would rather have died. That's what my father would have done."

Stukov's felt intense sorrow. He wasn't wrong, but he was ignoring what was in front of him. But he understood. It was what living under the United Earth Directorate did to its citizens. It glorified self-sacrifice, especially in wartime. It narrowly defined what was properly human in regard to biology, culture, and even language and exalted it, going past humanism and into a kind of species-ist fascism even in the face of obvious examples to the contrary— _Like the protoss,_ Stukov thought, _the xel'naga… or even sometimes the zerg._ _This doctrine is in schools, it is in the academies, and it was in the training that Gregory received. The young base their sense of self on it. The intelligent grow out of it as they cling together for self-preservation, learning to trust few and to keep their mouths shut (or cultivating how to speak when they were open). Some are not smart enough to do that. Others aren't smart enough to know they are being manipulated and either die in war or live happily oblivious to the suffering of others. My legacy was an advantage for him,_ Stukov knew, _and it probably kept him from death until now. As a "degenerate" he would have been used and harassed as a soldier. But apparently Sasha and this "Shin" had kept him out of trouble._

But now, Stukov realized, his name meant nothing, or worse, it was a black mark on him among many others. Stukov could understand that he would want to preserve his memories of him even if they were wrong. Without it, all that he had been all his life would have been a lie.

"What can I do to convince you?"

Gregory laughed curtly.

"Nothing. That you are here now—wearing an Umojan uniform—and would move against the UED disproves your claim. My father would have killed himself…"

"You don't think I've _tried?_ " Stukov said, his sorrow turning to frustration and anger. "You do not understand what I've been through, and you don't understand what is going on now. Damn it, Gregory…"

The light above them flickered again. Now he could feel the psionic energy bleeding off of his son, focused towards him. The zerg in him tensed his arm and readied the claws on his back. The mutagen he used to infest his enemies coursed through his arm. Consciously, he quelled his body's reaction. Gregory could not defeat the dampener, and even if he did, Stukov would not attack him. He contemplated letting Gregory kill him.

"Get out," Gregory said.

Stukov's sorrow turned to despair. He was at a loss what to do. If he could hear the Swarm, he would have retreated to them, letting the zerg dull his humanity and his emotions. All he could do was button up what he felt and leave. He would be back once he had time to think about how to get through to him. One problem is that he may have been right. When he thought about it, he wasn't even sure if he _was_ the real Stukov. _How could I tell? I died. I came back. But what came back? Am I a soulless corpse animated by—as Gregory put it—an alien virus?_ It would explain why he only remembered his second infestation—not the first. He remembered being "human" again and "dying" a second time. _The infested still have their human memories locked inside them. Was I given just enough psionic spark to access mine?_ The thought that the "real" Stukov—the human one—had found oblivion was both comforting and terrifying. And he most likely would never know one way or the other.

As he walked back out of the brig, Dauphin waved him down.

"Hey," Dauphin said, "I'll keep trying to talk to him. He's not really very happy with _me_ right now either though."

"He's a little bitch," KD said from the other side of the hall. Both of them ignored her.

"For what good it will do."

"I don't understand. I saw what Reeves did and it scared the hell out of me. I wouldn't care if you were zerg, or my dad, or some random person; I wanted the hell off that ship. I don't know what would convince him… He never read that note you wrote him. Do you think that would help?"

"I… don't know? Do you have it?"

"No, but we stashed the duffel on our shuttle. We were going to ditch the stuff when we landed. We didn't want someone to find it. That's one of the reasons Marín caught us. We got away from our escort. The guard has it. You might get them to give it to him… when they let us use a datapad for a few hours each day…" Dauphin said, sighing.

"It sucks. I'm so bored," KD said.

"Yeah, it'd be great to get out of here too," Dauphin added.

"I'll speak to Marín on your behalf. Maybe they'll put you on house arrest instead, eh?" Stukov said.

"That'd be way better than this," Dauphin said, sighing.

Stukov left them and walked back into the guard room. He talked to the guard about his duffel, rummaging through it to find his ID. He gave it to the guard, instructing it to give it to Gregory later. Just as he was zipping the duffel back up, Marín returned.

"I see you found your bag. Feel free to take that back with you."

"I might as well leave it here. Unless I just felt like prancing around with it on my own ship, I'd have to leave it at decontam if I left in it."

"I could keep it here for you if you want. It would give you something other than an Umojan uniform to wear—if that matters to you."

"That's not a bad idea."

Marín looked uncomfortable for a moment as if weighing whether to pry. "How… how did it go?" There was so much to say and explain, but Stukov didn't want to get into it with someone he felt like he knew but also did not. The simplest answer, he decided, was best.

"Poorly." Stukov inhaled and exhaled with a deep sigh. He immediately realized how odd it was that he had done that.

"That's… unfortunate. He should be glad to see you, I would think."

"It's... more complicated than that. But you had something to tell me? Let's get out of here. Watching you drink will be a welcome distraction."

Marín took the duffel to her quarters and put it inside the door. Then she led him towards the aft of the ship. Unlike the design of the _Aleksander_ , there was more than one observation deck and they were not restricted to officers. Marín lead him to a section of one of the aft observation decks—OA-6—observation deck, aft, level 6. A blue neon sign with palm trees around it dubbed it "Oasis." He thought it was kind of a stretch _, But maybe not so much in French? That's another common language in the Umojan Protectorate._

Inside, the observation lounge been made into a tiki bar, though, he thought, not a particularly authentic one. _Or at least not what one on Earth would look like_. All the right parts were there—dark wood paneling, oars and tiki faces on the walls, fishing nets here and there, and an elaborate carved-wood bar. There was even an animated beach scene projected over the view of the stars from the observation deck's vast window. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong. Then he realized that the tikis were influenced by the zerg and the protoss, having some of their facial features. And the wood was the wrong color; they were made of some species that was either native to the Koprulu sector or had changed over time from the specimens the "colonists" had taken from Earth. It was like someone had seen a tiki bar scene in a film once and reproduced it only vaguely knowing that Hawai'i and French Polynesia were island chains on Earth and was unaware that a lot of the kitsch was just stuff made up by the Americans in the twentieth century. It was not the kind of place he would have been caught dead in on Earth and not something he would have thought the Umojans would have been interested in.

"This is… not what I expected."

"It's a tiki bar. Do you not have those on Earth? Is that an Umojan thing?"

"No… no we have them… I guess I thought it would be something more…"

"Formal? Stuffy?"

"Yes… something like that."

"We took a poll. This is what the results were. Can't say it's my style…" Marín said, then she started laughing. "Actually, that's a lie. It's what I voted for. I'm from a seaside town and we have two bars like this. Feels like home, really."

"I would not have guessed that about you."

Marín led him further into the bar to a large, round table in the corner. There weren't that many other people there, Stukov noticed, but it was early. She seated herself so that she could see the door. Stukov sat next to her. He would have been uncomfortable otherwise, not being able to see people behind him. It was the zerg in him, compounded by the fact that he couldn't read anyone's mind.

"Are you expecting someone else?"

"Eventually, yes."

A server came and set a drink before Marín without saying a word. It appeared to be a mai tai. He asked Stukov what he wanted and he told him he didn't drink and not to worry about him.

"I see you have a 'usual.'

"Yes and no. They kind of surprise me. You sure you don't want anything?"

"It's not that I don't want. It's that I can't taste it and it does nothing. That, and I'm not very good at keeping it down," he said, pointing to the gashes in his cheek.

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't put that together."

Marín took a drink and contemplated her glass. Whatever it was she had to tell him, Stukov thought, she was not being forthcoming. _It must be bad_.

"The more you stall telling me, the worse I think what you say will be."

"I know. I'm trying to figure out what to tell you first… I guess I should start from the beginning…"

Stukov sat back in his chair. _This sounds like a longer story than I was anticipating_.

"They may have made it sound like I was _supposed_ to pursue you and shoot you down, but that's not the truth. I was not ordered to engage you—or even be off the _Uhuru_ for that matter. Almost shooting you down—that was me, not them." She looked him in the eye to see how he would react. "But I saw what you were doing, and I knew there had to be a reason. I also thought it would be better for us if you were… out of the picture. I hope you don't take offense."

"No, you were working with what information you had at the time. It worked out though, yes?"

"I guess, but… well, that's where things start to get murky."

"What do you mean?"

"It… worked out but not because the Terran Republic, Umoja, or Moebius wanted it to. I didn't want to tell you this before because I didn't want to sour your relationship with either of the other parties, but it has come to a point where it seems like no one has any loyalty to anyone else and that both of our lives may be at stake so… here goes."

Stukov was confused. He leaned in close to her, listening intently.

"We rejected your proposal—that you know. And the answer was sincere: we didn't have the resources to help at that time. But what you didn't know is that Valerian hatched a plan to assassinate you when we couldn't help you."

Stukov listened as she detailed the plan that Valerian had devised with Nova, how she had inadvertently put a stop to it, and how she had almost been killed in the process. Then she told him about her unsanctioned mission. When she stopped, he was boiling with rage.

" _Why_ did you stop me from _killing_ him?"

"I told you why—we need him."

"And Horner agreed with his plan?" Stukov said, incredulous.

"They… seem to have a long-standing relationship. I think that Valerian is starting to abuse the trust that Horner has put in him. But if today was any indication, Horner's finally starting to break ranks."

"Even so, this alliance seems less and less appealing."

"I feel the same way. If it's any consolation, you can rely on me."

"Why? You've done much for me, but you and I are strangers."

"No Umojan trusts Valerian, one. And Valerian almost killed _me_ to get to my ship which means I am wary of him now as well, and what you said to shut Oyaleni and Valerian up—I think we would be best served if we watched each other's backs."

"You're not afraid of what they will say?"

"What who will say about what?"

"I'm not human," he said, and finally remembered to add, "anymore. And I'm from Earth. You don't think they'll use that against you?"

Marín gave him a sidelong glance.

"Hearing what my own people will say about me, I don't think it matters. And you're human. I don't know why you keep saying otherwise."

"Huh. Does alcohol affect your eyesight?"

Marín nearly choked on her drink.

"No, but maybe my hearing. I'm one of those people who starts shouting when they're drunk. But what does what you look like have anything to do with it? You care about your son, and in the brief time we've known each other, you've saved thousands of lives. If you weren't human, would you have done any of that?"

"I have suffered—I still suffer. I don't want others to do the same, regardless of allegiance."

"That's not something a zerg would say."

"How would you know? Have you spoken to any lately—other than me?"

"I will soon if we go with your plan."

"Ah yes, Zagara. She is… interesting."

"Do you think she will help us?"

"If we help her."

"How are we going to do that?"

"It will become clear soon."

Marín didn't seem to like that answer.

"You don't trust me… You say I'm a stranger… and you want me to trust you?"

"I'm not sure you want to hear my plan."

"Try me."

Stukov didn't want to explain the mission to her, because it would require perhaps losing some resources to gain more, and their manpower was in short supply. Thankfully, Marín was distracted by someone walking in. She waved to them. It was Jansa, the woman he had met earlier in the hangar bay. She saw him and balked slightly. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Stukov realized that it looked as though he and Marín were having a private conversation. He sat back again and nodded to her in greeting. Jansa cautiously settled into a seat across from Marín.

"I heard about Augustin. How are you holding up?" Jansa asked. Before she could answer, two men came in and sat beside Marín. She introduced them as Achille Barre and Anders Ahlberg. Dr. Laurent also entered, scanning him with her strange, mechanical eyes, and finally Vermaak came and occupied the last seat, having the bad luck of sitting next to Stukov's infested arm.

Stukov looked around. The place had filled up, and the holographic seascape projection had been replaced by a football match being broadcast from somewhere in Umojan territory. It was starting to get loud. He began to feel less and less out of place as the crowd ignored him and he listened to Marín's crewmates converse freely in his presence. Barre described and acted out portions of the dressing-down that Marín had given Horner for Stukov much to his amusement and Marín's dismay. Barre offered to send him a copy, but Marín quickly told him that was a security breach. Jansa told the story of Marín and Nova's encounter and how she had "slapped that bitch down" with the launch rack. Marín had to finally tell them to stop talking about her and ordered another drink. Stukov told his own story about Alarak and how he bested him by basically shoving him out a window. The conversation devolved into the dumbest things they had done in the academy, of which Stukov's story involved him dropping a lit cigar into his own CMC and setting his trousers on fire. He finally had the presence of mind to evacuate the air out of his CMC to put it out, but not before panicking and flailing around in the suit, which he pantomimed.

"I still have a scar on my thigh from it. If it had been an inch or two to the right, it would have been more serious. Much more serious. Gravely serious," he said. None of them seemed to expect him to tell the story, much less act it out, which made it funnier. _They've also been drinking—a lot. Everything is funny. Where are these drinks coming from?_

As if reading his mind, Marín asked, "Hey, who is ordering these drinks?" They all looked around confused.

"I thought you were!" Barre said. Ahlberg flagged down the waiter.

"Oh, those are for Admiral Stukov compliments of the crew of the _Vrede_. I told them he doesn't drink, but they've been sending them anyway. I've just been passing them around."

Stukov looked up and around the room. There were a few tables of people watching him. They raised their glasses and cheered as he noticed them.

"You know what? We should have a toast," Marín said. She climbed on her chair, nearly falling she was so tipsy. Stukov grabbed her waist reflexively, steadying her. Vermaak reacted as well and shot Stukov a look that he didn't know what it meant. Marín held up her glass. "Everyone! Let's have a toast!" She held up her glass. "To our guests from the _Vrede_ , to Admiral Stukov who brought them here, and to Admiral Augustin whose sacrifice will not be in vain!" Someone pressed a drink in his hand, and everyone was looking at him expectantly. Resignedly, he put his hand over the wound on his face and bolted some of it. It tasted like nothing. All he felt was cold. His hand was wet when he took it away.

There were a few more toasts from the crew of the _Vrede_. The night was devolving into a wake for Augustin. Marín became very quiet. Though she had knew Augustin well, she seemed unable to join them in talking about him. _Her grief must be great_ , he thought. Again, he wished he could read her thoughts. _Or I could not be an idiot and ask her._ He leaned towards her again so that he could speak to her without shouting.

"Are you okay?" He said quietly.

"Yes, I… think so. It's hard to talk about him. And I don't want to overshadow his crew's grief with my own."

When he sat back again, Vermaak was staring at him, giving him a hard look. He realized his arm was around the back of Marín's chair. He slowly moved it away, glad that she hadn't noticed. _He didn't defend her earlier but acts protective of her now? Odd._

His attention was drawn by someone yelling in the bar.

"Change the frequency. Change the frequency!"

The scene projected on the windows changed. He instantly knew what he was about to see within a few notes of the martial music that began playing. The red-and-black crest of the UED flashed upon the screen, and an overwrought voice began narrating the scene that faded in. It was Tyrador IX. A squadron of Directorate wraiths and Tal'darim phoenixes flew over its domed capital building trailing red and black smoke—fitting as they were both the colors of the Tal'darim and the UED. In front of the capital building stood Marcos Marinakis behind a podium smiling vacantly. Beside him was a very bored-looking Alarak and on the other side Reeves in a white version of a UED dress uniform. The skull symbol on his cap had been removed. Someone in the bar said, quite loudly, "That guy has the _douchiest_ beard."

 _I guess that means both survived the conflict. Damn._

"Today the United Earth Directorate celebrates an uncontested victory, bringing law and order to the Terran Republic system of Tyrador."

A resounding "boo" erupted from the bar. Someone threw a beer can at the image on the screen.

"Directorate forces have liberated the colony from the Republic with the help of our powerful and faithful allies, the Tal'darim."

The video cut to Alarak's forces marching in the square in front of the capital, framed, Stukov thought, in such a way that made it seem there were many more than there were. It then cut quickly to some unrelated staged battle footage of Alarak performing some of his more acrobatic attacks. Stukov wondered how they had gotten him to agree to that. _Appealing to his vanity, most likely._

The video cut back to Alarak, Marinakis, and Reeves standing in front of the capital. "Though the battle was costly, the lasting peace promised by the Directorate will benefit the citizens of Tyrador for years to come," the narrator said.

"I bet they're fucking," someone in the bar said.

"What? Marinakis and Reeves?"

"No! The protoss and the dude with the fucking weird beard."

"Is that even possible?"

"Anything's possible if you try hard enough, mate."

"I would like to point out that those men are _not_ mine," Marín said, putting her head in her hands.

"That sounds… chafing?" Barre said quietly.

"Achille…" Marín said, sighing.

The video focused on Marinakis.

"Now that Tyrador has been liberated from President Horner's oppressive regime…"

"Do you think he really believes this shit?"

"… Tyrador and Tarsonis will now be part of a splendid alliance…"

"Who the fuck says 'splendid?'"

"…of not only the United Earth Directorate and the Terran Republic, but also the Tal'darim."

"Maybe they're all fucking?"

"Shut _up_! I can't _hear!_ "

The narrator began again, the scene changing to canned footage of the zerg—and the infested. "But this alliance has already been tested by betrayal." A grainy picture of Stukov, probably from a Tarsonis news feed from when he was briefly on the ground, was centered in front of the footage. It was his face in profile, his left cheek and shoulder prominently displayed. The picture made him uneasy. His face was twisted into a snarl, and the glow from his eyes created a distortion in the picture that made him look even more hellish. _That's not what I really look like, surely_. _They picked that picture on purpose. I'll be easier to destroy later if they cast me as inhuman now_. "Admiral Alexei Stukov, infested by the zerg, has revealed himself to be a degenerate and a traitor to the cause, attacking the UED fleet."

"Who's that handsome devil?" Someone yelled. Stukov laughed and the table around him cheered.

"And that's not even my _good_ side," Stukov said loudly, his voice carrying across the room. There was more cheering. Marín laughed and put her arm through his briefly in a gesture of camaraderie. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Vermaak tense and appraise him again.

"Our forces routed him at Tyrador, and he has retreated with his Terran Republic and Umojan Protectorate allies. His immediate family is also suspected of terrorism and traitorous acts; if seen please report any tips to your local UED constabulary for a substantial reward!"

Oasis went quiet. Displayed on the screen were the faces of Stukov's children. On one end was Alexandra, stern and as unphotogenic as her father, looking tired and business-like in what he thought was most likely her Central Intelligence ID photograph. She had cut her hair in a way that Stukov was unsure he liked: shaved closely on one side in an apparent nod to her military career and shoulder-length on the other. He wondered why she had done it; she remembered her having beautiful dark hair. She was gaunt and already had creases already under her eyes and a few strands of grey at her temples. His two other sons were in the middle, Maxim smiling in what looked like some sort of headshot. Stukov doubted he was an actor but could see him being some sort of politician— _He had always been able to talk himself out of anything_. Cyril's photo was unrevealing and appeared to Stukov like it had come off a passport or a commuter's license. Gregory's picture was his military ID; his skin was so pale against the background he almost blended in with it.

The narrator began speaking again, but the bartender cut him off mid-sentence by returning to the football game's frequency. Around the table, no one spoke. The spell of him as one of them had been broken. He felt out of place again. Stukov rose from his chair.

"I… think I should take my leave. We have an early morning…"

"I'll take you back," Marín said quickly, leaving her chair to follow him. They walked in silence to the elevator. Uncomfortable minutes passed as it took them down through the ship.

"Do you think they will be all right?" Marín said finally.

"I don't know. At least they haven't found them. My daughter did not respond to me, which means she is in hiding or on a ship in coldsleep."

"Let's hope it's the latter."

"Yes."

Quiet settled between them again.

"She looks just like you."

"Unfortunately for her. At least she was spared my nose."

"There's nothing wrong with your nose."

"Yes, that's the least of my problems, isn't it?"

"Are you fishing for a compliment?"

"What? No. Just… pointing out the obvious."

The elevator opened onto the hangar level. Stukov followed Marín to the door of the starboard hangar.

"This is where I'll have to leave you. If I go in, I'll have to go through decontam again. There's a period of time that we have to wait…"

"I understand."

"I'll see you in the morning," she said. Stukov turned to leave, but Marín stopped him. "Tell me if you hear from your kids, will you? I want to know… if they're safe."

Stukov walked alone into the hangar bay, his footfalls echoing in its emptiness. Despite his olfactory senses being less acute (or at least less attuned in a human way), the acrid smell of the disinfectant they used to try to "clean" the _Aleksander's_ blood and infestation off their ships burned his nostrils. His shuttle, unable to be fully decontaminated because it was being held together by infestation, was sealed under heavy sheets of plastic marked with biohazard stickers. As he ripped the sheets off, the sound shattered the quiet. Stepping inside, he readied the shuttle, keying in an automated sequence for launch. Warning klaxons blared as the energy shield engaged and the hangar door began to open. Hesitating, he turned and walked to the edge of the hangar to the energy shield, looking out on the starfield before him.

The scene outside to him was surreal. Terran and protoss ship as well as the _Aleksander_ and Kerrigan's leviathan all waited together in the shadow of the Umojan defense platform, the _Beynac_. When Kerrigan left, Stukov thought his last tie to humanity had been severed. He had no place on Earth and no close contacts in the Koprulu sector. He chose to reside with the zerg but on his own terms. Stukov questioned that choice now. He could see where he could fit in here, but he warned himself way from any connection or sentimentality he felt for these people. Though he had defended her, he was wary of Marín's kindness. _But at least she was frank about me being "useful." I don't know if she really cares about my children or my wellbeing beyond my ability to fight. Once this is over, I will most likely be back to where I was—alone on the_ Aleksander _above Braxis, never hearing from any of them again. I may never even reconcile with my children._ He could read Marín, he realized, once he accomplished what he hoped to with Zagara. But he wasn't sure he even wanted the friendship that they offered. _What would I get out of it? Christmas cards? The occasional subspace message?_ He was being reductive, he knew. If he could get Umojan citizenship and become a consultant or contractor for the Umojan Navy, he thought he may have a somewhat normal life again—something that he would need if he finally got through to Gregory and the rest of his children made it to the Koprulu sector. _Five years is a long time to wait._ But even with that, Stukov realized, he was getting ahead of himself. If they won this war, if he survived, and _if_ his children had even made it on a ship, he would gladly wait the years until their arrival.

 _Until then, I will clear the way, assuring that when they finally arrive no one—the Directorate or otherwise—will harm them._

 _I'll make sure of it._


	15. Chapter 15: The Mind

Marín did not immediately go back to her quarters after leaving Stukov in the hangar bay. She waited until the bridge had told her he was under way, and then she wandered. It was late and she was tired, but she was also still slightly inebriated and angry and did not want to go back to Vermaak while in that state. The halls of the _Uhuru_ were mostly empty; there was only the skeleton night watch around working, and, she reasoned, most were exhausted from the day's battle. Marín was still running on adrenaline, but she wasn't sure how. She had slept little the night before, had engaged in a covert operation, evacuated an infested ship, taken command of the Umojan fleet, and still managed to have drinks with everyone afterwards. If it hadn't been for Vermaak's behavior during her dressing-down by Oyaleni, she would go back and sleep soundly. But the altercation bothered her. There was something wrong about it, even though she kept telling herself that he hadn't actually _said_ anything. _I've known Wynand_ _for years_ , she thought, _something is wrong._ At first she thought that maybe it was the promotion, but there had to have been another issue.

 _Or Issues_.

She tried to think of something else. There was so much that was more important to sift through. First, she was now in command of the entire Umojan fleet, and her first orders were to lead a portion of the fleet into zerg space to escort Stukov. _That's not going to earn me any good will, but I can't worry about offending the fleet's sensibilities now—there_ is _a war on._ She knew that Stukov needed to be back at full power and that they would need an alliance with the zerg to win the war. She hoped that Stukov knew what he was doing. The rest of the fleet did not trust him, she knew, but Horner did, and Stukov had almost recklessly sacrificed himself already for their cause. _We're both reckless. Maybe we deserve their distrust_. If she was being honest with herself, she identified with him, especially after how her own people had reacted to her command. And she felt a great sympathy for him because of what he had been through with the zerg and now the UED.

She rounded a corner and entered a corridor that was against the hull of the ship. As she passed a small window, she stopped. The _Beynac_ , one of the defense platforms positioned along the Umojan border, dwarfed everything else except the _Spear of Adun_ and Stukov's remaining leviathan. She tried to pick out the _Aleksander_ , but it was too far away. Idly, she wondered what he was doing. Not sleeping, she reasoned. Since he didn't need to eat, drink, or breathe, she assumed sleep wasn't necessary either. Realizing that he'd likely been awake since he was infested made her feel very tired. She couldn't imagine that. _Does he read? Listen to music? What?_ She wondered. Marín thought that she would go insane if that was her life.

 _Maybe he has_.

Marín sighed, still looking out into space, watching the fleet hang motionless between the _Uhuru_ , the _Beynac_ , and the larger alien ships. _I guess we'll find out, won't we?_

Finally feeling like she could sleep, she made her way back to her quarters. The door slid open, and it was dark inside. She quietly entered and manually pressed the pad by the door so it would shut more quickly; she didn't want the light from the hallway to wake Vermaak. It was silent in her quarters, but he wasn't snoring. He had either just gone to bed and wasn't deeply asleep yet, or he was lying in bed awake and feigning sleep. She hoped it was the former.

Stripping down to her shirt, she slid into bed, not wanting to fumble around for her nightclothes in the dark. He was asleep, his eyes tightly closed. Marín nestled into her pillow and started to drift off. Vermaak's eyes blinked open.

"Took you long enough," he said. Marín jumped, yelping in surprise.

"Holy… Why are you awake?"

"You walked off with Stukov. I was worried."

"If you were worried, why didn't you come look for me?" Vermaak ignored the question.

"It's 0200. What took you so long?"

"I took a walk."

"Alone?"

"What… do you mean?"

"Did Stukov just leave? Why is his stuff here?"

"No, he left two hours ago." Marín's eyes narrowed and she sat up quickly, angered by the implication. "Is _that_ what this is about? You think there's something going on between me and Stukov?"

"Is there?"

"Why would you think that?"

"You didn't say 'no.'"

"I shouldn't _have_ to. How long have we been together?" Marín said, starting to get angry.

"Are you sure you're not infested?"

"I _told_ you. I got a clean scan when I went through the decontamination protocols." _Dumbass_ , she thought.

"After that. He touched you."

"When did he do that? And he'd have to do more than touch me to infest me, Wynand."

"Has he?"

"What the fuck is your problem?" Marín said, her voice rising. But she knew what it was. It was a smokescreen and a preemptive strike to distract her. "You're the one who neglected to defend me from Oyaleni and Valerian. You're just trying to keep me from saying anything. Nothing is going on between me and Stukov, and you know it."

"I can't defend you when you act..."

"You know what? I don't want to hear it. I didn't sleep last night, but I'm going to tonight. Just... stop. Let's just... stop. Okay?"

Marín settled back into the bed and rolled over away from him. It was silent in the room. Marín heard Vermaak get up quietly and dress.

"Are my quarters still open, or did you give them to someone on the _Vrede_?"

"Because of your overblown sense of propriety, yes, you still technically have your own quarters. Why?"

Vermaak said nothing and left.

 _Oh, for fuck's sake._

* * *

Horner sat alone in the _Hyperion's_ cantina. It was silent; it wasn't open, but as the _Hyperion's_ commander, he had the privilege of access to all public rooms at any hour. The jukebox had long been broken beyond repair (after being fixed hundreds of times) but still hung as a reminder of the old times and of Jim Raynor. Horner reached behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He dropped it. _Damn it._ Horner looked around, trying to figure out where the bartender kept his broom and dustpan, but then sighed and got another glass. He'd figure it out later. _I need a drink before..._ The door slid open as Horner tipped the bottle to pour himself a shot. Nova walked briskly towards him, wearing a work shift. Her hair was wet like she'd just stepped out of the shower.

She tossed a datapad on the bar next to Horner. It slid into his glass and he had to fumble to keep it from crashing behind the bar as well. Nova pointed to the datapad aggressively.

"What the _fuck_ is this?"

"Your orders."

"Did we _not_ just discuss me _not_ working with Valerian again?"

"I can't be two places at once, Nova. And you and your team are our best shot for infiltrating the Dylarian Shipyards. And I spoke to him after we talked."

"What was his goddamn problem?" Nova said.

Horner gestured to her with the bottle. She nodded and Horner picked up another glass from behind the bar. He started to pour but realized he had left the cap on. Embarrassed, he opened the bottle and poured a shot for them both.

"Stukov. Apparently, he has some pretty damning info on him. Nightmarish stuff. He really doesn't want him to be part of the fleet."

"Huh. Well, he better get over it."

"I think he is… He's just afraid Stukov isn't." Horner explained Stukov's connection to Moebius and Skygeirr. Nova bolted her shot.

"That doesn't explain his interference with the Umojans or his kid gloves in battle."

"No, it doesn't. That's why I need you to go over there and act like nothing is wrong. If he knows we're still watching him, he'll close ranks and go to ground. He'll do whatever he wants behind our backs, or worse dupe someone else into doing it for him."

"Right," Nova said resignedly.

"Look, I want Valerian to be the old Valerian just as much as you do, but…"

Nova tapped her glass on the bar. Horner poured her another shot and then finished his own.

"He's not coming back. He was never there. What we saw was an illusion. An illusion of the golden boy propped up by Moebius and all its evil shit."

She slammed her shot again. _Maybe the whiskey was a bad idea_ , Horner thought. She shook her glass at him. He poured her another against his better judgement. _Oh, what the hell._ He poured another for himself—a tall one. Nova smirked at him.

"Have you talked to Mira yet?"

"No," Horner said, sighing.

"You ever get your 'marriage' annulled?"

"Finally got her to agree to it when I became president. I was tarnishing her reputation as much as she was mine."

"Hah! I guess the president of the free worlds of the Terran Republic was too straight-and-narrow for her line of work."

"That's… pretty much it, yeah."

"You're single then, now," she said, eyeing him from above the rim of her glass as she took a slow drink. Horner gave her a sidelong look. _That's an odd question._

"I… guess?"

"Let's drink to that then." She clinked her glass to his.

"Cheers," he said, humoring her. He took a long drink, and when he finished, Nova topped off his glass. Horner had wanted to have a drink with her to talk about Valerian and to quell any fears she had. He had cautioned himself about drinking too much; his tolerance was not great, and it was something that had gotten him into trouble before—with Mira Han _and_ with the Raiders. Horner knew that he was already letting it get out of hand. _But it's Nova. What's the worst that could happen?_

* * *

Fleet Admiral Marín entered Stukov's quarters aboard the _Aleksander_. Stukov, sitting in his chair at his desk, turned towards her, surprised at her being there but saying nothing. He stabbed out his cigar and set it in the ash tray on his left. Marín sat down on the couch and smiled at him. The scene no longer seemed odd. His mind concocted an elaborate long-standing courtship between them. Stukov pushed away from the desk and beckoned her over. The battle plans he had been pouring over were still on the small holo-emitter on his desk, and he pointed out several aspects of his plan to her as she stood beside him. She idly ran her fingers through his hair. He caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips. She leaned over to kiss him, then slowly climbed onto the chair, straddling him. He moved his hands under her shirt and jacket at the small of her back and pulled her closer, shifting his body to position himself beneath her. They moved against each one another, kissing passionately. He began removing her uniform jacket, unzipping and helping her out of it. He turned briefly to toss it behind him, and when he turned back... He was gazing into the face of an infested terran woman. It let out a horrific scream and opened its hydralisk-like jaws wide, lunging at his face.

Stukov woke up with a start, cursing blackly. He was ice-cold with fear. Consciously, he knew an infested terran couldn't hurt him. But subconsciously he was still human with very human fears—and wants—some he was totally unaware of until now. _I was... asleep?_ He looked around. What was displayed on his desk was not a battle plan. It was a digitized DNA schematic depicting what edits Abathur proposed for the zerg to combat the psi disrupters: splices of primal zerg tissue that Abathur still had specimens of. The ash tray was gone. There was creep on the floor in the corners and the room was worn—unlike in his dream. He realized that he had dreamt of himself uninfested. He sighed and adjusted his posture in his chair, wondering what had caused him to sleep and had triggered the dream. _Being around humans... it is doing something to me... I expected to "humanize" superficially. Re-socialize. Learn to react normally… Not… this._ He wasn't sure that he liked it. Stukov was used to being unfettered by emotions other than anger and experiencing them now was disconcerting. _But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself... Are these emotions? Or is it something... biological? If being around humans could cause me to subconsciously begin breathing and sleeping, this could mean my autonomic nervous system is being stimulated somehow. It could be pheromones or… something else. My telepathy?_ But there were other possibilities that he didn't want to consider. _Or it could be my brain—my limbic system or amygdala—affected by... who know what?._ The former, he decided, was preferable—just arousal he could deal with himself. _True feelings would be... problematic_. He turned the dream over in his mind and his memory of her with it. Stukov decided that whatever was happening was due to the peculiarities of how they met. _The dress... her kindness... the decontamination protocols..._ _I'm lonely and don't realize it_ , he reasoned. _And she's convenient. I'm a fool misconstruing kindness for affection._ But awareness of the origin of whatever he felt didn't change anything. He prodded his memories, and felt something there, but he didn't know what.

 _It's been a long time_.

"Adjutant, what year is it?"

"The year is… 2520."

" _What?_ "

 _It's been_ twenty years _? I'm_ seventy-two _years old?_ Subtracting coldsleep he was sixty-seven, but the clock had stopped on him at his death at forty-seven; he mourned the life that never was—a retirement and a quiet life with his children and maybe grandchildren away from war and the zerg. It suddenly dawned on him that Marín was only a few years older than his own daughter. But he realized, physically, so was he, and both would one day overtake him. He groaned and rubbed his face with his hand, stopping and covering his mouth and scarred cheek. A lot of what he was parsing out was mind-bending-even without thinking about how he _might not even_ be _the original Stukov-_ and even despite that, he felt a fair bit of shame. _I don't even know how my ex-wife died_ , he thought, _and I'm on to someone else_. _And fantasizing about a comrade-in-arms is… unprofessional._ After all this time, Stukov assumed the Swarm had effectively eroded his humanity and he had welcomed it. He had rarely thought of home or his family and had come to appreciate the clarity and simplicity afforded by the Swarm. _And now… I_ _shouldn't have put on the mask of humanity for my allies. I'm playing the part too well… Have I been denying my true nature? Can I not truly leave my humanity behind?_

He disliked the human parts of his psyche as a zerg. _They are… messy and chaotic and have already gotten me into trouble… My son… and now this woman…_ All of it was a dull ache in his chest. He groped around for a decanter of vodka that wasn't there, remembering that he had removed it some time ago and that it wouldn't have done anything for him anyway. _All the shit parts of humanity with none of the good ones? What god did I offend, eh?_ A sly smile moved across his face. _I guess the xel'naga_. He'd have to be contented with watching his Umojan compatriots drink.

Stukov returned to his work, but the dream nagged him. It took a few minutes for him to be at ease. Something about it worried him. Then he discovered his underlying fear: he had the power to infest someone, but could he infest someone unwittingly through close contact? _I don't know; it has never come up_. _It stands to reason that I could—and I've been accused of it already._ _My purpose was never revealed. The cerebrate died before it could command me, and I wasn't privy to my design—and Abathur has been tweaking it over the years…_ _But what does it matter? Humans are terrified by the infested. Thinking she'd consider a relationship with me is insanely optimistic. She probably couldn't even imagine…_ But he could. He went back to the dream, imagining his hands on her. _Stop. God, I forgot how awful this can be_. _If it comes to it, I can talk to Abathur… not that this is the kind of conversation I'd_ ever _want to have with that… slug._

He looked at the time on his holo display. In a few hours, he would be underway with the Umojan fleet and he needed to prepare. Stukov knew he would have to deal with all of it, but it would have to be later.

* * *

The report on Reeves's datapad made his pulse quicken and his hands tremble. The damage to the _Kuznetsov_ was extensive. The leviathan's pull on the carrier had caused the ship's bow to microfracture under the strain. The minefield's detonation had cleanly sheered off the carrier's first ten bulkheads at the point of stress. Thankfully, the leviathan had shielded the ship from the brunt of the explosion, keeping the ship from being vaporized outright. Reeves had lost a good portion of his engineering crew, but his pilots and ground troops were off the ship. But that, combined with the lost battlecruisers, marines, and the _Nimitz_ —the carrier he had lost to the minefield—the number of dead had topped 100,000. Reeves threw his datapad down on the conference table in front of him in frustration. He hated to admit it, but Stukov had been right. He had waded into something that he did not understand. And when he had made that realization, he had tried to brute force his way through, hoping the superior skill of his fleet and their numbers would secure victories for the Directorate. It had worked, but he could not keep losing this many people or resources. And he didn't see any alternatives. Strategically, he was out of his depth.

And, Reeves rationalized, it wasn't entirely his fault. The combined terran, Daelaam, and now infested fleet was an alliance of five very different strategic minds: Horner, the two Umojan admirals (though some reports counted Augustin as deceased), Valerian, Artanis, and now Stukov. Reeves was one man leading an immense armada; he had Alarak, but he did _not_ trust him, and Reeves knew Alarak didn't trust him either—something that had worsened recently. After the battle, Reeves felt something had changed. Reeves was enthusiastic about Alarak's role in the conquest of Tyrador, but Alarak was reserved when speaking to him later on, retiring after humoring him in the propaganda video. _It was Stukov's betrayal, I'm sure_ , Reeves thought, _that has made him cautious of humanity_. Reeves felt a kinship with Alarak. Both preferred ruling over their subordinates absolutely, requiring unquestioning fealty. He believed unity could only come from respect for authority and obedience. But this kinship didn't translate well to an alliance. Neither was good at sharing their plans and it was looking like it would be a constant vie for dominance. He envied the partnership that the leaders of the Koprulu sector forces had and cursed Stukov for his betrayal.

It was four of these minds that had devised the minefield that would have worked if Alarak had not unexpectedly been there, somehow liberated Stukov's son from the _Kuznetsov_ , rescued Stukov when he had been incapacitated, and goaded him then into almost killing him and destroying his carrier. _If I'm to subdue these miscreants_ , Reeves thought, _I'm going to need more eyes and to be more vigilant. I need to see all sides of this conflict_. And that was why he had looked through the rosters of all his carriers and invited the most senior and decorated officers to attend a meeting onboard the _Kuznetsov_.

The conference room was empty; the meeting wouldn't start for another half hour. It was the largest room on the _Kuznetsov_. It consisted of a round table on a dais and rows of seats on risers in a semi-circle around it. The room was for addressing the leaders of a fleet face-to-face all at once. Reeves had never used it. Those under his command took orders from him; the communication did not need to be two way. There was no use in having them in a room to commence some sort of dialogue—until now.

The first of the higher-ranking officers walked in. It was Vice Admiral Curchack, commander of the _Aleksander II,_ the flagship of the battlecruiser fleet. She was a small woman, frail-looking with age, her long silver hair plaited in an intricate braid at the nape of her neck. She faltered when she saw Reeves sitting at the table. Reeves perceived what he thought was an unguarded look of contempt from her as she turned her piercing blue eyes to him. Her eyes were rimmed with pink, probably, Reeves thought, from exhaustion. She straightened and turned away, clearly uncomfortable at being the first to arrive. He had not spoken to her at length. All she had ever gotten from her was a "Yes, sir." She followed orders, nothing more and nothing less. She chose not to sit at the table with him, but instead on the first row of risers.

The next to arrive was Shin. He nodded to Reeves and sat down across from him, again in his almost threadbare ghost uniform and weathered non-standard-issue leather duster. He busied himself with his datapad, but the man could not sit still, and began shaking one of his legs. Reeves found this kind of fidgeting obnoxious, but he found Shin to be that on the whole. He suspected that Shin may have aided Gregory Stukov's escape, but there was nothing concrete he could point to that would suggest his complicity other than he seemed not to be troubled by his kidnapping—or surprised. _And his nonchalance about it borders on insolence,_ Reeves thought. But of all the people he would meet today, he knew that he was the one that he would _have_ to ally with. He was the mind behind all of the fleet's covert ops, and his record was impressive. He would need him.

The room slowly filled; it had been quiet at first, but as more people entered and they outnumbered Reeves, the room became loud with animated conversation. It was a room full of people with a common purpose and background that did not get to cross-socialize often. _They all have a lot to talk about_. Reeves wondered if maybe he needed to facilitate this kind of gathering regularly, reasoning it might placate them. He let them talk until five minutes after his appointed meeting time.

Reeves stood from his chair and wordlessly stalked to the door, locking it with a loud click. The room went silent. He turned back around to see all eyes on him. They seemed slightly fearful, as if wondering if a trap had been sprung. Reeves walked back to his chair, his boots echoing in the large room. He tapped on the black glass set in the table. The lights in the room dimmed, and a holographic projection warmed to brightness above the conference table. It was a picture of Horner as a young man—a mugshot from his days as a "rebel" with the Raiders. In it, he did not look particularly competent—or experienced. Reeves had chosen this picture purposefully.

"As you all know, this is our main aggressor," Reeves said, walking away from his chair again and pacing the lower level of the room, "Admiral Matthew Horner. He commands the _Hyperion_ and the Terran Dominion," he paused, his tone edging into sarcasm"—excuse me 'Republic'—fleet. He was also their temporary leader after the deposition of Valerian Mengsk." The room was silent as Reeves went into Horner's dossier. It was nothing they didn't know, but Reeves had chosen him as a place to start. He meticulously went over intelligence focused on Horner's battle performance both past and present. But then his focus shifted. He began discussing Valerian, his rule, his battle record, and Moebius—information that was not classified but also not widely known. Chairs creaked and hushed whispers floated down to him as those who were bored by his discussion of Horner began paying attention. Reeves progressed through all of the Directorate's Koprulu sector adversaries: Augustin, Marín, Artanis, Vorazun, and, finally, Stukov.

Reeves began with a perfunctory summary of his career, painting him as lazy, sloppy, insubordinate, and a drunk—nothing more than DuGalle's lackey. But while he could paint him personally as an unsavory element and professionally incompetent, it was hard to cover up his tactical ability when going through his record. He caught Shin turning to Curchack who was seated behind him. They exchanged glances briefly before returning their attention to the presentation. He wondered if they knew each other from outside the fleet—or if they had known Stukov. Both, he realized, were in an age range in which they may have come into contact with him; they were probably the only two in the room who were.

What Reeves left for last was the most titillating—and embarrassing. He went over Stukov's infestation, making it seem like a choice, and then told them what they didn't know: Stukov's involvement initially with the fleet, his son's kidnapping, and his alliance against them. A lot of the information conflicted what had been officially released. There were some surprised gasps in the room; whispers turned to hushed chatter to the point where he had to ask curtly for quiet.

"And this is what we're up against: old foes, new ones, and a _comrade,"_ he said mockingly, "that is now an enemy. All of them bring something new to the table, like the minefield, that we did not expect. We _can_ defeat them. We _have_ defeated them. But the cost is too high. We need cunning, and we need a new perspective." Reeves moved into the last part of his presentation. "Here are our current plans. Once we regroup, we will leave a defense force here at Tyrador, consisting of Tal'darim and Directorate forces. We will move the bulk onward to Korhal." Reeves went on to detail the attack. It would be effective, but would rely on, again, the overwhelming numbers of the UED fleet. "I open the floor for recommendations." For minutes, the room was silent. Reeves worried that they would be too cowed by him to speak, fearing that what they said would be taken as a criticism. When Curchack finally spoke, he was surprised.

"This plan makes the same mistakes we've already made. Casualties will be substantial," she said, her voice, though thready with age, was clear throughout the room, "Worse, it fails to anticipate the fleet's next moves. Are we really predicting that they will only fall back and guard Korhal? What if they don't?" Reeves was angered by her tone, but instead of reacting—which he knew would squelch any further participation in his experiment—he questioned her instead.

"Then what do you suggest, Admiral Curchack?"

"Attack a target they don't expect: their shipyards, the Protectorate's automated fortresses… Or at least engage some subterfuge. We could feign an attack on Korhal and instead attack Umoja."

"My men…" Shin said, "We could infiltrate the Protectorate's fortresses—or the Republic's bases. Make one or two go dark. It would appear as though we were on the move and cause them to split their forces. We could catch them unaware either attacking Umoja or Korhal."

"Don't forget all the _tech_ we're not using," a voice piped up from the back. Reeves could hear the woman, but not see her. "Over here," the voice said. The woman finally stood in her chair. He recognized the woman—dark, severe-featured and implausibly short—as Chief Engineer Aditi Ramachandran. He had recently read her file. She was somewhat of a wildcard. Her service record was uninspiring, but her extracurriculars in robotics and her years in weapon research had caused him to add her to the meeting. She was not much of a soldier but an impressive engineer. "Yes," she said, waving her arms at Reeves, "here I am! Anyway, we utilized a science vessel to disrupt the infested, but we could be doing so much more. The technology that we're using—duplicating psionic signals to disrupt psionic-sensitive creatures—could be used against humans and sensors. We could perhaps make it look like there are several more thousand of us—or less—depending on what use we have for it. And that's just science vessels. We've salvaged some of the protoss mines—not a lot, mind you, they were pretty well toast—but it's enough to make our own weapons pack a bit more punch if you give us some time…"

Reeves was already impressed by the outcome of the meeting. He saw his team assembling and realized that he already had what he needed: Shin, a covert ops specialist; Curchack, a tactician with an eye for a plan's faults; and Ramachandran, a tech specialist. Reeves let them continue to speak amongst themselves to see how well they "played" together. Shin and Curchack seemed to know one another already and interacted readily with Ramachandran, who had left her seat and was now sitting on the bottom steps of the riser in sight distance of Shin and Curchack. After awhile, Reeves interrupted them to dismiss the room.

"Curchack, Shin, Ramachandran—stay here."

Ramachandran looked stricken, no doubt wondering if she was about to be reprimanded. Shin crossed his arms and glared at Reeves, and Curchack went silent, again looking tired. Reeves approached them.

"This meeting had three purposes: to be more forthright with the fleet, get recommendations, and to identify candidates for my new team of advisors. The three of you are that team. Get your recommendations and iterations together. I want three different proposals in my inbox by 0900 tomorrow. Congratulations on your new appointments."

* * *

Marín found herself on a shuttle yet again _en route_ to the _Aleksander_. The small force she had amassed dropped out of FTL and crossed into zerg space four hours ago, and Stukov had reportedly made contact the Zagara when they arrived. An hour later, a leviathan arrived carrying thousands of space-faring zerg. It was a tense moment, but the zerg, sent by Zagara, had escorted them further into zerg space. Zagara had proposed a meeting place on Gysst, and Stukov had accepted on their behalf and agreed to her demand that the two of them come alone (without consulting her). He had offered to pick her up in his shuttle, but she had declined. Vermaak had not been happy with the arrangement, but Marín was beyond caring what he thought. She was slightly angry also with Stukov not okaying the meeting details with her, but she understood that he may not have had time. _If it happens again, I'm going to have to put my foot down. We need Stukov, but making concessions for him is putting me at odds with the fleet—and apparently my partner._

The trip from the _Uhuru_ to the _Aleksander_ was harrowing. Mutalisks patrolled the space around and between the battlecruisers, diving seemingly at random, unaware of her arc towards the _Aleksander_. She instinctively reacted evasively whenever they drew near, though Stukov had assured her that they would not attack unless provoked. The ship's port hangar yawned open as she approached. She maneuvered into the hangar and set the ship down gently, feeling the floor give slightly as the ship found purchase. The weird squish she felt as it did so made her wince. She opened the shuttle's door, and the weird smell of the hangar and its damp humidity flooded in. Once the door fully opened, she heard Stukov's heavy boots on the ramp. She turned in time to see his clawed hand grasp the jamb of the door as he entered. His glowing eyes narrowed into slits as he walked into the bright interior of the shuttle.

 _Admiral Marín_.

Marín was startled by his voice in her mind, but she should have expected it. He had told her that his telepathy was dependent on the number of zerg in proximity, and Zagara's escort was likely more than enough to network whatever psionic power he needed to read her. Her mind immediately jumped to something that she wanted to hide from him: her conversation with Vermaak and what he had insinuated was going on between them. She scrambled to suppress the thought and think of something to cover it. She began playing through some Gustav Holst in her mind. Stukov laughed.

"I can hear that, but I'm not _reading_ you. Don't be alarmed." Stukov activated the hatch behind him, closing it, and settled into the navigator's chair. "I thought it might be a good idea to practice speaking sub-vocally. It may come in handy during our meeting with Zagara."

"Can she not read us too?"

"Yes and no. Zerg and human brains are structurally very different and so are their brainwaves. Zagara could read me—if I would let her. I'm just zerg enough, but as a human I appear… closed off to her even though I can connect to the Swarm. But you? No. Zagara can read thoughts but only those connected to the Swarm—and then only if they are zerg. Her telepathy is like mine but weaker. She is empowered by the zerg around her, but they only increase the distance and number of zerg she can control."

"What about Kerrigan?"

Stukov smiled slightly, and he seemed to Marín to descend briefly into something akin to reverie. "Kerrigan could rip any thought out of your mind no matter how deeply you tried to bury it. And she could do it gently without you noticing… or rip it forcefully out and leave you a slobbering idiot in the process. This she could do before she was even zerg. As the Queen of Blades her power was unfathomable. There were no secrets hidden from her."

"That's… terrifying."

"Oh, believe me, it was. It was a good thing I was on her side."

"You sound almost nostalgic."

"Why not? I had a place, I had a purpose… Kerrigan wasn't the _worst_ company…"

"Would you rather be back there?"

Stukov looked at her quizzically, as if trying to determine why she had asked. "Definitely not. Especially now that Zagara is in command. I will not serve an animal. And she would not serve me. With Kerrigan gone, I have no desire to lead them. I probably would have left on my own eventually, even if Kerrigan had stayed." _But we should get going_ , he said to her telepathically.

The hangar opened and Marín lifted off. She did not like speaking to him this way. When he did, she could feel him there, and while he said he wasn't prying into her thoughts, she felt instinctively that he was for some reason tempted to do so. And his voice was different now. Instead of the ghostly whisper, it was charged in an odd way, and she could sense something behind it that she could only describe as a warmth. It wasn't as creepy to her, but it was intrusive.

 _Your mind is chaotic. Gather a thought. Direct it at me._

 _I don't see the point of this._

 _I may have to abruptly change negotiation tactics. I won't be able to signal what I'm doing to you unless I use telepathy. We need to be a unified front._

Marín rolled her eyes slightly.

 _And don't do that. No knowing glances or obvious body language. Zagara can't read human minds, but she has been around humans long enough to read their gestures._

 _Fine. Anything else I need to know?_

 _No, but I have a question…_

 _Okay…_

 _Why did you insist on picking me up? Was it my driving?_

Marín laughed. _You did fumble the landing a bit that first time. But no, I just wanted to not get on Dani's bad side by bringing an infested shuttle into her hangar. She was_ not _happy about that._

 _No, she had, eh, gift wrapped it for me when I returned._

Marín turned away from the console to look at him and reply, and when she did, she flinched. She was not used to seeing him from this angle. Despite how easily they seemed to get along, she was jarred by his hulking shoulder, his rended face, and the zerg claws on his hands and back. Catching her eye, he pivoted his body to face her, draping his infested arm over the back of his chair where she could not see it. Marín felt terrible; she felt she must had made him self-conscious.

 _Do you know where you're going?_

 _I have the coordinates. We'll be in range of Gystt in about five minutes._

 _Good. There's a structure there… It's away from her hatcheries and specially built for her to receive human and protoss dignitaries. There was a time when she reached out to the Dominion and the Daelaam for peace. I doubt it has seen much use recently._

Marín knew the planet's history. It had been purified by the protoss but revitalized by Zagara through a process that had been labelled classified by the Dominion. The Umojan Protectorate had long been sore over the Dominion not appraising them of Zagara's overtures or allowing them to participate in negotiations. As the shuttle neared, Marín was in awe of the extent of the changes Zagara had made. What was once a smoothed globe of obsidian and ash was now blue, purple, and green with a dense, cloud-laden atmosphere.

 _It is strange, yes?_

 _What?_

 _To find hope in the zerg. All the planets that the wars in this sector have destroyed… Maybe they can be restored? You're not from the Sol sector so you don't understand what you have here. There are many planets within only a few lightyears of each other that can sustain life. That is not the case for Earth. We lived for centuries unable to find suitable planets for habitation, finally finding Gantris VI—five lightyears away and a five-year trip. When I left Earth, resources and population were problems, even with Gantris as a sustainable colony. Gantris is now independent of Earth. Reeves said that the reason they had returned here was to try to colonize again. "Planets are a dime a dozen," he said. And now there will be even more._

 _Let's hope that doesn't make them worth_ less _. If you can fix a planet…_

 _You can continue to break them. There would be less incentive for someone like Alarak to not glass a planet._

 _Or for a mining operation to consider how it affects a planet's environment._

 _Indeed._

With a jolt, the shuttle began descending through the planet's thick atmosphere. Visibility came and went as they descended. Lush forests and wide, dark rivers rushed below them.

 _Speaking of Earth…_

 _Yes?_

 _Those two women you captured… I know them. I would consider it a personal favor if you would allow them more freedom. They are not a threat. I do not believe they would sabotage the_ Uhuru _or try to escape—or help my son do so._

 _What makes you think that?_

 _They know what Reeves is like. They know that returning to the_ Destroyer Fleet _is suicide._

 _I'll… see what I can do._

The ship's onboard computer chimed as they came into range of the meeting site. Marín flew past it, looking for a place to land nearby. The ground around it was overgrown with scrub, though it appeared as though it had once been surrounded by a clearing. Marín found a small break in the underbrush—an outcropping of smooth, gently sloping rock that had survived Zagara's terraforming. The shuttle came gently to rest, shuddering only slightly as it touched down.

 _And_ that's _how you land a shuttle._ Marín opened the hatch from her console. Stukov slid out of his chair and towered over her.

 _Oh ho. You're giving me piloting lessons now? This planet has_ nothing _on that hunk of rock_ I _landed on_. _I was contending with zero visibility and hurricane-force winds. Not a fair comparison._

 _Sure it wasn't,_ Marín thought, grinning at him. He looked her up and down, raising an eyebrow at her and putting his hands on his hips.

 _Listen, I was training in Valkyries when you were…_ Stukov straightened suddenly, a sheepish look crossing his face.

 _When I was what?_

 _Nevermind. I… thought I heard Zagara._

 _Oh. Maybe we should go…_ Marín stood, and they walked to the hatch together. Because of the nature of the landing site, there was a drop right outside the hatch that was over a meter tall. Stukov stepped off, landing without even regarding it. He turned to see Marín hesitate. He reached his infested arm up to her. She took a step back at the sight of his clawed fingers. Despite that she had no problem with him in her earlier interactions with him, she was not as focused and the mission not as pressing—there was nothing to distract her from his disfigurements. And, her conversation with Vermaak had made her more conscious of his infestation and the danger he posed to her. Her mind began to run back to her conversation with Vermaak; she had to squelch her inner monologue. Stukov squinted at her, and she could feel him pushing into her brain, his curiosity getting the better of him, chasing the thought she had dismissed. Realizing she was being ridiculous, she grabbed onto his hand. Stukov gently helped her down.

 _It's not far, is it? Do you hear Zagara again?_ Marín said, subconsciously wiping her hands on her uniform. She had to tell herself to stop.

 _No,_ he said, walking away without turning to her. She jogged to catch up.

 _Is this the way?_

 _Yes._

 _Is something wrong?_ Stukov didn't reply immediately. Marín began to panic. _Had he seen what was in my mind?_

Stukov sighed. _I wasn't reading you. I don't need to._

 _What do you mean?_

 _I know how disgusting I must seem. I took me months to not be_ terrified _of the zerg specimens we studied on Earth…_

 _What? That wasn't what I was thinking…_

He rounded on her quickly, and she almost ran into him.

 _Then_ what?

 _I'd… rather not say. But it's not that._

Stukov looked at her suspiciously as if for a moment he didn't believe her. But then he turned and continued walking.

 _Why are you worried about that_ now? _Would I be here if I was disgusted or terrified by you?_

 _No, no I suppose not. I'm sorry… I'm… preoccupied._

They neared Zagara's meeting place. It looked like a stone hatchery on low columns with an oculus in the top. The interior was open to the elements on all sides, and time had run its course. There were cracks in its supports and vines and lichen had made their way up half its height. The vines created curtains over the openings around the bottom of the structure. Stukov brushed them aside, ushering Marín through.

 _When Zagara comes, let me do most of the talking._

 _Are you afraid of what I will say?_

 _No, but she will take any excuse not to help us, so try not to give her one._

 _Well, that's reassuring._

Marín walked around the room, her footfalls echoing in the empty chamber. Large motes—Marín thought they might be spores—glinted in the light from the oculus. Three short, cube-shaped pillars were set in the middle of the room, their purpose unclear.

 _I shouldn't have a breather on, should I?_

 _It's not zerg—or infestation. Local flora. You might need an antihistamine later, but I doubt Zagara would invite us somewhere that would make a human sick. You aren't the first to be here, after all._

Stukov looked off into the distance for a moment.

 _She is coming. Stand by me. I don't want her to think we're trying to flank her._

Marín circled back around the pillars to stand at Stukov's side. Stukov raised to his full height, clasping his arms behind his back. He had returned to his officer's demeanor, presumably, Marín thought, to show Zagara the gravity of what was going on.

 _I'm not going to be actively reading you while speaking with Zagara. If you want my attention, think of me and I will pick up on it._

There was a rustling from the other side of the room. Two hydralisks—more massive than any she had ever seen—broke through the curtain of vines on the far side of the structure. Each had a wide, spiked crest and looked like pictures Marín had seen of old Earth dinosaurs. Their eyes glowed slightly as they slithered into the room, looked around, and seemed to smell the air.

 _Those are Zagara's personal guards. They are checking to see if we have weapons and if we came alone as agreed._

 _She trusts us that little?_

 _You remember the last human she allied with was Valerian, right?_

 _Point taken._

 _I can't say she's fond of_ me _either_.

 _Wait… I thought you said…_

Zagara entered slowly, brushing aside the vines with one of her forelimbs. She was much larger than Marín imagined; Zagara was larger than a "normal" queen and queens were already almost twice as tall as Marín was. The loud, chitinous clicks Zagara's six legs made on the stone floor gave her goose flesh. The two hydralisks' eyes flashed and they retreated.

"Stukov," she said flatly. "I did not think I would see you again."

"And it seems you were comfortable with that arrangement."

Zagara crossed her forelimbs, rubbing them together like a giant cricket.

"Yes. Your return means Abathur's. He is a traitor. I will not suffer him in my presence."

"I did not bring him with me. I left him with Izsha. We've been keeping him on a short leash."

There was a short silence. More rubbing.

"How is he?"

"Fine. Bored with me, I think."

"As well he should be. Humans are biologically inferior. Their potential for evolution is narrow."

"No need to be _insulting_ Zagara," Stukov said, chuckling, "especially in front of a guest." He motioned to Marín. "This is Fleet Admiral Renata Marín, commander of the combined fleet of the Umojan Protectorate. She is my ally against the Directorate in this conflict. Admiral, this is Overqueen Zagara, leader of the zerg."

 _Do I shake her… claw or something?_

 _I wouldn't, no._

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Overqueen Zagara."

"You humans find pleasure in odd things. And I did not mean to insult. What I said is the truth."

"I'm… not sure I'm insulted, Overqueen. I can't say my species's evolution is my concern," Marín said. Stukov's thoughts drifted into her own: _Tread lightly there_ , he thought. "But our current conflict is."

"Your petty human squabbles do not concern me. The zerg now want only to live on their own worlds and be free from human and protoss interference."

"I understand, Zagara. But ignoring the conflict is folly. If the Directorate defeats the Umojans, the Terran Republic, and the Daelaam, they will turn their weapons on you—and they'll have the combined forces of what's left of the Terran Republic and the Umojan Protectorate for their use. They will not suffer the zerg to exist. They will set out to exterminate the Swarm," Stukov said.

"Are you suggesting that if I join forces with you that you could protect me?"

 _Tell her something to reassure her. She knows I alone cannot defend her from the Directorate._

"You're not just joining forces with Admiral Stukov. The Umojan Protectorate—as I'm sure you're aware—is the most technologically advanced of the terran interplanetary nations in this sector. We have thousands of ships and millions of marines that would work to keep your core worlds safe if your systems were attacked. We would also share tactical information with you so that you could keep your borders safe. The Terran Republic is also allied with us, and an alliance with me—and Admiral Stukov—would mean an alliance with them as well."

"The Daelaam have also entered the conflict. This sector will be united against the Directorate if you join us. There will be nowhere they can find a foothold."

Zagara looked unmoved.

"Our numbers are in the billions. There is no way you could protect us. Entering the conflict now will lead to more losses. We will wait for the outcome of humanity's meaningless dominance display."

Marín began to speak but felt Stukov in her mind again.

 _Trust me._

He crossed his arms in front of him, giving Zagara a sidelong glance.

"So, does that mean that you resolved the, uh, schism here?"

Zagara's mandibles twitched.

 _Schism?_

 _I'll explain later_.

"I'll take that as a no." Stukov took a few steps towards her, looking up and directly into her face, "Do you think the Swarm's rogue broodmothers will fall in line just because there's a larger threat? Are you sure they won't defect or leave you undefended and on your own?"

"We are zerg. We fight as one."

"Zagara, I am zerg. Izsha is zerg. Abathur is zerg. Dehaka is zerg. None of us fight at your side today. And do you not remember? Kerrigan had to best you to gain your respect. Do you not think it will be the same for _your_ brood mothers?"

Zagara shook her head, looking disgusted.

"You equate us with humans. The zerg have no time for your kind of infighting."

" _Our_ infighting? I know you, Zagara. You forget that. And I know that the way you rule doesn't sit well with all of your generals."

"What of it?"

"Maybe you need someone on the outside to… let them know their place in hierarchy of the Swarm."

 _Tell them about the forces that we have brought here._

 _Stukov, this was_ not _the arrangement._ _Are we throwing our own troops at zerg ones? How is that a good idea?_

 _Please just do as I ask. We can always back out if it later._

"We have a small strike force at our disposal. We could isolate a brood and capture its leader. There are ways to minimize zerg casualties…"

Zagara brought her claw to her mandibles and seemed to be considering.

"They are not your people, Zagara. They are usurpers. And right now, they could disrupt the chain of command and undermine your attempts to rally the zerg to defend itself if the UED do enter zerg territory. The Swarm without unity is at risk of…" Stukov said.

"Grellna… and Drezsera," Zagara said suddenly.

Stukov leaned back and rocked on his heels, seeming satisfied with himself.

"Grellna… has too large a brood and is too stupid to realize she is destroying the planet that is her brood's home. She will not heed me, but right now she has the resources to defend herself against my brood. And I will not destroy her brood to get to her. But she may not expect an attack from terrans. Her brood may be saved—and her world."

"And this Drezsera?"

"She is… cunning. Too cunning. And ruthless. She wishes to overthrow me. I should rejoice in the coming of a new overqueen with better sequences, but she wants only to kill me. She has no ambition to lead or grow the Swarm. If she came to power, there would be war. We would splinter yet again. Many would die. Whole strains would be lost. Subjugate both and send them a message—kill them if you have to. Use their broods to fight for you and end your ridiculous terran skirmish. I will relay their locations to your ship."

Zagara's personal guard entered again, flanking her. She turned and left, the hydralisks sliding backwards, keeping an eye on Stukov and Marín as Zagara turned her back to them.

"Thank you, Zagara," Stukov purred. It was not quite a deception; Stukov had described to Marín what he was going to do accurately if vaguely. His plan made sense, but with such a small fleet and already heavy casualties, assaulting a zerg brood—much less two—was incredibly risky. It would not make her more popular with her fleet; she worried it would make those who trusted her wary—and those who didn't enraged. But there wasn't much of a choice. They needed the zerg, and they needed Stukov. There had to be a price.

 _Hopefully it won't be my command._

 _I won't let that happen._

"… Damn it, Stukov."


	16. Chapter 16: The Spirit

Horner awoke to the sound of the adjutant paging him. It repeated its message three times before he finally heard it through the fog and the throbbing pain in his head. He was dimly aware he was in his quarters and uncomfortable. His entire body ached, and he was cold but sweaty, and his eyes hurt when he opened him. He was dizzy from dehydration. He remembered he had been drinking. _Never again_ , he thought.

"Call from Mira Han."

 _Mira_ , he realized dully, _she's calling me back_. She wouldn't care if he was still in bed. _Or hung over_ , he thought. _Might as well answer._

"Patch it through," he said groggily.

Horner tried to raise his arm to rub his forehead and realized he couldn't. "What the hell?"

Dazed, he looked around. His clothes were on the floor—and Nova's. He looked down at himself and it dawned on him that he was completely naked and tied to his desk chair in the middle of his room. His belt was cinched around his neck and his arms tied very tightly around the back of the chair. The holo-emitter on his desk blinked to life—the video feed was coming on. He scooted himself around, hopping on his feet (which, he found, were tied to the front legs of the chair) to turn the back of the chair towards the camera. As he turned around, he saw Nova sprawled out naked on the bed, her long legs and muscular buttocks in range of the video feed. Panicked, he scooted the chair so that he was blocking Mira's view of Nova on the bed. Behind him, he heard Mira cackling.

"Matthew, baby. Are you having fun without me?"

"I'll call you back!" Horner shouted. "Adjutant, end call!" His holo-emitter flashed off. Horner sighed and his mind raced. He didn't remember anything about the night before except having a few drinks with Nova. He didn't remember coming back to his quarters or even leaving the cantina—much less about how he could have ended up tied to a chair. _Of course_ , he thought, _I can take a wild guess_.

Horner looked at Nova. Her legs were askew, and she was face down on the bed, one arm over her head and the other tucked beneath her stomach. Her hair was all around her. Horner had never thought of her as tan, but she had very visible bikini lines. She was dead asleep. _Or… I guess she could be dead?_ He couldn't tell from his position. Horner hoped it was the former, because he'd rather not have to call someone to get him out of the chair. He chastised himself for the thought. If she were dead, he knew, that would be the least of his problems.

"Nova," he said gently, "wake up."

No response.

"Nova," he said more sternly.

Again no response. He began to panic.

"Nova!"

"Huh? What?" Nova raised her head slightly, looking back at Horner. She put her head down again and moaned. Horner could barely make out her saying, "Fuck, Matt. You don't have to yell. Jesus fucking Christ," into the grey comforter on his bed. Nova turned over and way from him, rolling herself up in it.

"Damn it, Nova. Don't go back to sleep,"

"I'm tired."

"Help me! Get me out of this!"

"What?"

Nova sat up slowly, blinking. She gathered her hair out of her face and turned to him, blinking again hard. Seeing his predicament, she covered her mouth but couldn't keep from doubling over laughing. Regaining her composure, she slid out of the comforter and off the bed.

"Oh my god, Matt, I'm so sorry." She walked behind him and untied him, then pulled the belt off his neck. Relieved, Horner rubbed his wrists, neck, and shoulder, all sore from being restricted. He looked at her slim, naked body. She was totally nonplussed by his gaze, not registering any regret or modesty.

"So, we uh…"

"No, you passed out before anything could happen."

"Oh," Horner said, his disappointment surprising himself. On a normal day, Nova scared the shit out of him—so did Mira. Neither of them did he think was his "type," but now that he was older and more aware of himself, he came to understand that subconsciously he was attracted to women that scared him. _Or people… and careers_. He thought about how that attraction to danger and dangerous people had ruled most of his life.

He thought he could change them. He thought he could change the universe. In a way, changing the universe had been easier. Thinking made his head hurt more.

"It's for the best, I guess," Nova said, putting her hands on her hips and bending back at the waist, stretching. "God, my back," she murmured quietly.

"What?"

"I mean you technically being my boss and all," she said, straightening again.

"Oh… right." For a moment, their eyes met. Horner stood. Nova looped her hands around his lower back, and after looking him up and down, kissed him. But as he kissed her back and pulled her to him, the throbbing in his head worsened as his blood pressure rose. Horner grimaced in pain.

"You're not going to pass out on me again, are you?" Nova said.

"No, I just…" Horner rubbed his forehead.

"You have a headache? I have to say that's the first time that excuse has been used on _me_." Nova smirked and pulled away, looking around for her clothes. "You really can't hold your liquor, can you?" She said, picking up her socks and underwear. Horner sighed.

"Nope. Always been a lightweight."

"Something we can work on then. Next time." Nova pulled on her undergarments, clasping her bra in the back.

"Next time? What about me being your boss?"

"I'm not exactly on the payroll, am I?" she said, corralling her long blonde hair and tying it into a ponytail. Matt was amazed that she looked no worse for wear. _She must be made of neosteel_.

"You should call Mira back," Nova said, smirking again.

"Yeah… Right," Horner said sheepishly.

Nova left. Cursing himself for being so nebbish, he struggled into a pair of pants and a shirt. Horner had never had any luck with women. His relationship with Mira had been weird to say the least. Nova seemed to not have too much luck either. He remembered her talking about Tosh once, and he thought something may have gone on between her and Valerian. _That would explain why she feels so betrayed_.

Pulling on a uniform jacket and clearing off his desk, he finally sat down.

"Adjutant," he began, but was interrupted.

"Call from the _Steadfast_ , Umojan Protectorate Navy."

"Who? What? Patch it through."

"Admiral Horner, this is Capt. Calvino of the _Steadfast_. We've just arrived from Umojan space, and we've been notified of a change in leadership. An Adm. Mullenix has claimed to be the officer in charge here, but we were told…" Horner massaged his temples as a sharp pain sliced through his head and his headache returned with renewed vigor. He knew what this meant all to well: with Marín absent, the dissenting factions in her fleet had made a move. Marín couldn't very well take the _Liberté_ , the only other ship with senior personnel, out for her mission, and she trusted her fleet. _There's a lot of broken trust to go around_. He wondered if Valerian had anything to do with this mutiny.

"No, absolutely not. Adm. Marín is in charge of the fleet. That is mutiny, plain and simple. Do not take orders from Mullenix."

"I thought so. What are your recommendations? I… don't know who to trust here…"

"I don't know either..." Horner said, thinking for a moment. "Stay away from any Moebius ships for now… Form up away from the rest of the Umojan Fleet—with us or the protoss if you have to. Let us deal with the _Liberté_ and draw the rest of the mutineers out. And _talk to Marín._ "

Capt. Calvino seemed angered or embarrassed by the situation.

"Right. I apologize on behalf of the Umojan Navy for this… unprofessional…"

"Don't worry. There's a lot of that going on right now. We'll get through this. Horner out."

The adjutant cut the call. Forgetting his hangover and the night before, Horner hit the door at a dead run. Horner lamented that the next few days were supposed to be a time to recoup for the Terran Republic and the Umojans. The Umojan Fleet needed that more than anyone. The Terran Republic needed to quell the mutiny before it got out of hand.

 _So much for a little rest…_

* * *

There was a bright flash and thunder reverberated through the transport shuttle's cabin. The shuttle dropped a few feet suddenly.

"Bad storm out there," the pilot said over the sound of rain pelting the metal skin of the ship. "Going to be in for some chop." _She needn't have said anything_ , Stukov thought. _It is very obvious there's a storm outside_. It seemed like bad luck, but in reality the storm was cover. _Less visibility for us means less for them as well. The zerg rely on their senses; we rely on technology. Technology can break down, but the senses are more easily fooled._ It was especially a boon for him. He would have an easier time deploying his psi emitter. From his seat where he was strapped into the hold of the shuttle, he looked back at the psi emitter, tied down in the back by large, polyfiber belts. Behind it was Vermaak's heavily modified CMC and vulture, the latter creaking with metal-on-metal scraping as its bulk shifted with the shuttle's movements, its wheels also secured by belts. Traveling somewhere behind them, he knew, were several transports full of marines. But only he and Vermaak and the supplies were traveling ahead, himself to place the psi emitter, and Vermaak to survey the terrain and double back to his marines (Stukov assumed—he did not know his specific orders). Vermaak was a man of few words, and Stukov could appreciate that. He was of a type that he saw frequently in marines—stern, efficient, and laconic. They had spoken little; Stukov assumed that was the way he liked it.

As they neared Grellna's brood, he could feel the zerg scratching against his psyche. There were millions of them. Zagara had not been exaggerating when she said her brood was too large. _That was… an understatement._ Her brood recognized him as one of their own but were confused why they could not get through to him. He let them in briefly to establish a telepathic connection, mimicking the sedate, repetitive thoughts of an infested terran. They became bored with him quickly. Furtively, he pushed his mind into the interconnected comb of their hive mind, using it to enhance his psionic power and telepathy. He could hear the pilot's thoughts as she focused on her duties—nothing abnormal there. But Vermaak's mind startled him. Negative emotions poured out of him, so much so that Stukov turned to Vermaak with surprise, barely able to keep his expression neutral. Vermaak's eyes snapped towards him.

"You gotta problem?" Vermaak said, leaning forward and staring at him intently, not with anger but seemingly agitated.

"Just… thinking," Stukov said. He leaned back onto the hull, trying to look nonchalant. The metal was cold on his exposed shoulder and it startled him.

"Second guessing?"

"No, our plan is sound. Rushed, but sound. I draw away the zerg and subdue as many as I can. Your force moves on Grellna's central hive… and we take her brood from under her. It will take time, but once we turn her own brood against her, she will fall."

"Huh. I'm glad you're confident."

"You're not?"

"In myself I am."

Stukov's eyes narrowed. He knew that it would be a long time before the Umojans would completely trust him, but this was a man whose life he had saved. Stukov thought that he would have been less reluctant to accept him as an ally. The negativity streamed off him still. He was tempted to peer into his mind. His resolve waivered. With Marín he kept a respectful distance; he had been in her mind before they were allies, and he had seen nothing there to alarm him. _But Vermaak…_ He had assumed he was "reserved" before, but now it seemed like he had just been silently stewing about something. And he was out of practice. Vermaak would be a good test of his abilities. His consciousness, like an invisible tendril of infestation, probed into his mind. _I've got to keep him talking to get him thinking._

"If there's something you would like to say to me, now is the time."

"You left us in the dark about this. You saved a lot of people's lives—and mine—but you can't run us around."

"That's all? That I wasn't as up front as you wanted?"

The scenes that flashed in Vermaak's mind changed from images of the front on which they were about to fight to images of Marín—and Stukov. They were memories—of when he was introduced to Vermaak onboard the _Aleksander_ , his defense of her against Valerian, and OA6. And then there was more. Of Stukov with his hand around her neck. Marín, her naked skin pale as if in death and veins of infestation crawling under her skin. He couldn't discern the emotion behind it—whether it was fear, anger, or something else—but his worry was clear.

 _He still believes I will infest her_.

Vermaak never answered. What Stukov had revealed would have angered him before, but if anything, it now just made him feel like he had more in common with Vermaak. They both wanted the same thing: the "reckless" Umojan Fleet Admiral out of harm's way.

"We're nearing the drop. You boys ready?"

"Yup. Take us in," Vermaak said.

The storm had lessened in intensity when they set down, but Stukov could see that they had just outran it, and in a few hours, it would be upon them again. Vermaak got into his CMC and mounted his vulture, walking it slowly down the ramp and into the muddy soil. His wheels slipped in it, but he was able to guide it out of the way.

"Not going to be a good day for a ride."

"Not a good day for anything," Stukov said, picking his boots up out of the mud. He used his monstrous hand to level a place in the soil just behind the shuttle, and then carefully maneuvered—with Vermaak's help—the psi emitter down the ramp. Lightning struck a barren crag not far from where they were standing. The thunder was almost deafening.

"That going to be a problem?"

"Lightning strikes? Hm, I don't think so. Should be grounded."

Vermaak stood watching him as he tinkered with the psi emitter, turning it on and programming it for use. The frequency and trajectory were important based on where the enemy zerg were. Stukov, of course, knew. He was connected to them and could feel the ones that were closest by. Rain poured off his cap as he bent over it, shielding its holo-emitter from the storm. He still saw Vermaak out of the corner of his eye watching him, the giant arms of his CMC crossed in front of him.

"Should you not head to your troops now?"

"That's not my orders."

"No? What are they?"

"To keep an eye on you."

Stukov stood slowly, eyeing him. "For what purpose?"

"You're out here alone, with no armor, in a thunderstorm, about to do some animal-whisperer shit with the fucking _zerg_. Marín wanted to make sure you didn't _die_ before the battle even started."

"So, once I get this up and running and _don't_ get killed by the first wave of zerg, you will leave?"

"No, Marín has this annoying idea you're important. She'd like you back alive."

Stukov coughed into his sleeve to hide his laughter and obvious smirk. He felt a certain amount of glee at being shown favor by Marín; she cared about what happened to him, even if it was for selfish reasons. _I can live with her appreciating just my abilities—for now_. Her ordering Vermaak, a man who suspected him of being a danger to her to _protect_ him made it just that much more hilarious to him. _He seems to know I want_ something _from her_. _I don't think he would guess that it wasn't to_ infest _her._

"Tell the shuttle captain to leave. I am ready."

Vermaak trudged into the shuttle and barked at the captain. He walked back down the ramp, his boots clanging against it. The last step he slid from the water and mud. The ramp tilted back up into the shuttle and the back closed. As the light from the hold slowly vanished, Stukov suddenly realized how dark it was. _The terminus must be close—and the storm_. Stukov saw well in low light; he watched as Vermaak turned on the spotlights on his suit and his instrumentation panel which outlined the rocks and vegetation around them, illuminating the inside of his helmet. The shuttle vanished into the grey clouds above.

"How long do we wait?" Vermaak said.

"Not long," he said. "Hopefully only a few come here—enough that I can control them all. If not, I may have to turn them on the others, or we will finish them ourselves. If an overlord appears, do not fire on it. I need them to increase my ability to bend the zerg to my will."

Vermaak grunted his agreement.

"Once you get the bugs under control, I'll get my men here, radio Marín, and we'll advance."

"Of course."

Stukov turned swiftly away from Vermaak in a way that startled him. He flinched and raised his gun. Standing perfectly still, his eyes glowering towards the middle distance, he heard something that Vermaak could not.

"What do you…"

Stukov motioned for Vermaak to stay silent. Ahead, hidden in a lava tube, a clutch of zerglings was clawing their way to the surface. He would have liked some bigger zerg first, but they would have to do. They staggered towards the psi emitter, its signal confusing them. With is mind he reached out, coaxing them towards him. The zerglings followed, because they couldn't hear their master, and being separated from the swarm panicked them. They were bred to want direction and would heed whatever psionic call was directed at them in absence of others.

"The first are coming."

The zerglings entered the clearing; Vermaak trained his gun on them as they loped towards Stukov. They ran around him, smelling him in their way and sensing him, checking him out. Stukov held out his infested hand and one of the zerglings licked it. They burrowed into the ground near him. More came—and quickly: hydralisks, roaches, a few mutalisks. Soon he was at capacity.

"I have to stop… I cannot connect to more zerg. Will you turn off the psi emitter?" He was afraid even to move or to think about something else. Doing so might let one slip away.

"Can you walk me though it?"

"Walk you… Just press the 'off' button."

"Where?"

Stukov started swearing under his breath but suddenly stopped. The ground shook almost imperceptively. Vermaak sighed.

"Just tell me where it is. Quit acting like I'm a dumbass. I've never seen one of these before. And you Earthers put your interfaces in the weirdest of places."

Stukov waved at him to shut up. Vermaak stopped and listened. There was a rhythmic thumping in the distance.

"Is that…"

"An ultralisk."

"Fuck. We need that."

"I cannot handle it. Not with this many already. Get out of here. Find me an overlord."

"How?"

"I don't know! Figure it out, man!"

Vermaak got on his bike and rode quickly away. The ultralisk was moving slowly, but the earth was trembling with its steps as it got closer.

 _It must be very large—a mature one_. _If it gets here before Vermaak gets back, I will have to kill it. I hope what I have here is enough to do that._ He waited. The sounds of its footsteps were closer and closer. Finally, it entered the clearing. It shook its head as it emerged from the brush, vines and leaves tangled in its huge scythe-like mandibles. It looked at him. _Maybe it won't attack. It may see me as an infested…_ The ultralisk lowered its head. It raised one of its front feet and pawed the ground. Stukov sighed inwardly. _So, this is going to be my luck today? Fine. Come to papa._

With a roar, the ultralisk charged him, his head near the ground. _Yes, that's the spirit, charge me_ , he thought darkly _._ The zerglings he gained control over first obediently ruptured from the ground and scrambled towards the ultralisk. With them, he targeted the beast's back leg. Other zerglings followed. They pounced on it like a pack of hyenas, knocking it off balance. It dragged its haunches across the ground, roaring more, and turning in a circle. It flipped one of the zerglings away with its mandible cutting into its neck. The zergling slid in the dirt without resisting, leaving a trail of zerg blood. It was obviously dead. He ordered the rest of the zerglings up on its back where it couldn't reach them. Patiently, he waited for the ultralisk to kill them. _Then I will throw something a little larger at it_.

Stukov counted his zerg, feeling around for hydralisks. In his moment of inattention, one of the zerglings, lacerated by the ultralisk, was flung right at him head first. As it hit him, its tusks bored into his chest. Reflexively, he grabbed it and ripped it off him—taking a large chunk of his flesh with it. He looked down at himself. He was slick with blood and two gaping wounds on his torso steamed in the cold, rainy air. Cursing himself, he filled his arm with his healing antigen and applied it to himself. The pain dulled his mind. Unbidden, hydralisks began popping up all around him.

 _No. No… Think… Concentrate!_

There was a comm unit on the psi emitter. He needed to get to it. Turning too quickly, he slipped in the mixture of dirt, water, and his blood at his feet. Now, there was dirt in his wounds though he knew that mattered very little. He reached for the comm but felt himself being dragged away. One of the zerglings had him by the pant leg and was dragging him into a circle of other zerglings. Hydralisks began slithering their way towards him. He lost his cap as he kept being dragged, unable to get his footing or grab the ground due to the thick mud. The sky over him darkened—or so he thought. Lightning flashed overhead, and he realized the ultralisk was above him. It brayed loudly. The zerg stepped back, allowing the ultralisk to bring its head and one of its sharp mandibles down on him. He reached up with his infested arm and grabbed the mandible. It sliced into his hand, but there was enough strength in his arm to catch it and keep it from slicing him from shoulder to hip. The force of the blow pushed him into the mud. Stukov could feel it filling the tears in his face and flowing over his legs and uniform. But the other zerg were advancing, and in his panicked state, he couldn't subdue him.

Stukov heard gunshots in the distance.

"Vermaak!" He yelled desperately. The gunshots came nearer. Some of the zerg lost interest in him and turned off to investigate. The ultralisk pulled its head back up, taking Stukov into the air with it. He let go quickly a few feet off the ground and fell down in the mud on his back. Finally able to get his feet under him, he scrambled away just in time for the ultralisk's mandibles to snap at him where his head had been seconds ago. Vermaak entered the clearing.

"What the fuck, Stukov. This is _handling_ it?" He said angrily over the speaker on his comm.

But Vermaak went quiet when he saw the state Stukov was in. Their eyes met briefly. Vermaak pointed sharply upwards. Stukov followed his gaze.

 _An overlord._

The shots he heard was Vermaak getting its attention and luring it in range of the psi emitter. The ultralisk chased him around the psi emitter, bowling over the zerg in its way. Vermaak shot at it to get the ultralisk's attention. He was unsuccessful. The larger zerg were smarter than the smaller ones. They needed more complicated nervous systems to control their bodies, and because of this counted as more than one zerg to the swarm. Large zerg often weren't just one entity but colonies of them—and the smartest of the large zerg brutes were the overlords. Stukov cleared his mind—as much as he could with an ultralisk chasing him. He connected with the overlord, and it fought him. But finally, gathering his senses and power, he conquered its will. Through it, he reached the other zerg called by the psi emitter. The ultralisk obediently stopped. He told them all to burrow and await his orders.

Stukov walked around for a moment, dazed. He saw his hat on the ground and picked it up. It was covered in mud Futilely, he tried to dust it off, but he just got more mud on it from his sleeve—and blood. He threw it back on the ground and kicked at it, swearing. Suddenly, feeling spent, he collapsed in a heap in the mud. Vermaak stepped carefully over to him.

"You gonna be all right?"

"Yes, he said weakly. Give me some time to recover. That… did not go as I had planned."

"Huh, you think?"

"Now that we have the overlord, we should summon your men. We can move the emitter to the next point now. The overlord will allow me to gather the zerg we need to overwhelm Grellna."

"I'll contact Marín. We shouldn't move without air support."

"Of course."

Stukov allowed himself to relax, closing his eyes. Soon, there would be banshees and liberators overhead. He wondered if Marín would use her wraith to keep an eye on him. He smiled slightly at the thought.

"They're not answering."

Stukov's eyes snapped open. "What?"

"I… don't know. I can't get the _Uhuru_."

Stukov sat up. "Can you hail another ship?"

"Hang on, I'll try." While Vermaak tried each ship in turn, Stukov watched, a sense of dread building. " _Nobody_ is answering."

"I… I'll contact Izsha." Stukov stood slowly and walked to the psi emitter, keying in the frequency for his leviathan's antiquated comm system.

"Yes, Admiral. How can I assist you?"

"Izsha, what's going on up there?" Izsha blinked her large black eyes at him and cocked her head.

"Our status is normal. Abathur is…"

"No, Izsha, what are the _humans_ doing?"

"Oh. One moment." Izsha disappeared into the ship for a few minutes, then returned. "There appears to be some sort of standoff occurring. Frequency jamming has been enabled, but not for Directorate frequencies."

"Well, no, of course not. What do you mean by 'standoff?'"

"The _Uhuru_ has been attacked and surrounded. Other vessels seem to be trying to break their blockade."

"What?" Vermaak yelled, tromping over to the psi emitter.

"Is it a mutiny?" He said to Vermaak.

Vermaak threw his hands up in the air and stomped away.

"Goddamn it, Jana! Shit!"

Stukov stood at the comm, overwhelmed with shock. Soon, rage crept in.

"Now what are we going to do? We only have the troops we came down with…"

"We're going to modify the psi emitter target plan. We will take our time and build a larger force. Then, we'll crush Grellna on our own."

"Then what? How do we stop the mutiny? How do we even get off this damn planet?"

Stukov looked up at the overlord and back at Vermaak.

"That you can leave to me."

* * *

As far as the evacuation of Tarsonis City went, Dr. Joan Slavens felt that she was very lucky. She had made it off the planet before the main invasion rolled through, and she had been diverted from Tyrador to Korhal before it had fell. Now, she felt like she was where she was the most useful: behind the front lines, broadcasting hope and rationality to all that would listen. Slavens felt slightly nostalgic; this was the first time she had made a "war" broadcast since the Dominion was still in power. And she loved the feel of the studio. It was basically a dimly lit closet, herself on one side of a glass wall crowded in by soundproofing foam. She was perched on a stool with a mic in front of her. A holo-emitter projected on the other side onto the glass so that she could see who she was talking to. The sound was piped to her headphones. For such a small operation, it was very professional—and worth what little money she had to pay. But they were betting on her. She had a following, and once Korhal got wind of her new broadcast, they would start to generate more ad revenue and maybe even get donations.

Many—especially those who lived on the outskirts of the city or away from metropolitan centers—had been left behind by the Terran Republic. Normally, she would cast blame on the Republic, but there had been no way to predict that Earth would return and try to take over. After she had landed on Korhal, she had made a count of the people she knew—and found that most of them had survived and made their way to safe zones. But a few hadn't and were forced to bunker down on either Tarsonis or Tyrador. She had made contact with someone in Tarsonis City. It wasn't a "friend" really—more of a friend of a friend. They had consented to be interviewed for the program and to tell them what life was like under the Directorate and Marcos Marinakis. She couldn't remember his name, so she shuffled through her notes.

 _Here it is—Tyler Hogan_. _Former marine, now a Tarsonis City firefighter. He's someone a lot of people can relate to. This is going to be great._ She tapped on the glass and mouthed to the sound tech "How long?" He pressed a button on his console and the sound in her headphones came on.

"Five minutes."

"Thanks," she said, her mic now on. The two of them chatted about the war and about the sound tech's family. But then the show had to go on.

"Hello everyone, I'm Dr. Joan Slavens—welcome to my new show. I hope you're all safe, or finding safety this evening…" Since this was her first broadcast, Slavens detailed her experience escaping the Directorate, filling time until they could speak to their guest. Right on time, the sound tech told her over her headset that Tyler Hogan was on the line.

"Good evening, Mr. Hogan. Thank you for coming on my new show."

"Thanks for the invite, Doc. Call me Ty."

"Okay, Ty. Tell us… What's the situation there in Tarsonis City? What can you tell our listeners tonight?"

"Well, if I can be perfectly honest with you…"

"Of course!"

"Things are a lot better now than they have been in a _long_ time."

"I'm sorry, wha-what?"

"The Terran Republic was such a sham… And the Dominion had the right idea, but they didn't follow through with all they said they would. Arcturus was a bully, and his kid was spineless."

"Um."

"The Directorate has rolled in, and it's kind of surprising. I feel like there's real _leadership_ here. Marcos Marinakis has promised us food, shelter, and that we'll all be back on our feet, and so far that's been _true_. I've seen nobody react that fast to a disaster."

Slavens was suspicious that he may have been reading from a card. He was also probably getting paid. When Slavens saw Marinakis the last time, he had been grinning like an idiot, almost slobbering on himself. _He couldn't find his ass with a roadmap and two flashlights before, much less now after what the UED has done to him_. But she let him talk. If that was what whoever had gotten to him wanted him to say, it was safest to let him say it.

"… and when the Directorate holds an election for us and the people of Tyrador, I know who has my vote."

"So, you're okay with the fascist UED regime coming in and overthrowing the Terran Republic?"

"Honey, this is the fourth government Tarsonis has had in the last, what thirty years? As long as they're not burning everything down, I could give a shit less. Marinakis seems fine. At least he didn't _leave_ us like Horner did… Or _you_ did." That was a low blow. Slavens decided she would just let him _have_ it.

"Okay, look buddy. I know they offered you some money to come on my show, and you probably really _don't_ care about who is in power on Tarsonis, but if you'd have bothered to crack a history book, I don't know, _ever_ you would know what kind of people the Directorate are. They've killed millions of people just because _they didn't agree with them_ and shipped thousands more out here as basically an _experiment_ to see if we would survive. They show up on our doorstop and immediately _start attacking us_ and you think they're going to be a nice change from the Terran Republic, which was _just about to start implementing free elections?_ I'm sorry, but did you hit your _head_ during the invasion?"

Clearly, Hogan was not prepared for push back. She could hear him shuffling on the other end.

"Uhh, well, I mean, if you just talked to the guy…"

"What guy?"

"Marinakis."

"I have spoken to him before—at length. He's a buffoon."

"I mean now."

It suddenly clicked with Slavens. _Do they want to talk to me?_ She thought.

"As in… right now?"

"No, later."

"I… guess?" Slavens thought about how lucky she was about to get. Talking to Marinakis would be the scoop of the war. The ad revenue would make them all very rich. She would win journalistic awards. "Get his people to talk to my people."

"Okay," he said uncertainly. "Are we done?"

"If you want to be."

The line went dead. Slavens looked at her tech. He threw his hands in the air and was as confused as she was. Slavens made a save, discussing how odd the interview had been. Turning it around, she talked about how confused some people were bound to be, and that once they worked through the shock of the invasion, they would realize that they were under a pitiless, totalitarian regime.

At the end of the show, she put her headphones on the back of her chair and fluffed out her curly hair. Then she sat for several minutes, working through what was about to happen. She was going to speak to the new face of the Directorate in the Koprulu sector. From him, she would maybe learn their reason for being here, and what actually had happened to him. The prospect both excited and frightened her, because it would make her more famous but also potentially make her a target.

 _I guess we'll see what he has to say._


	17. Chapter 17: The Heart

The atmosphere was tense on the bridge of the _Uhuru_. Marín was playing the waiting game. Below, Vermaak and Stukov were underway; in front of her above the war table, she could see the slow crawl of the troop transports moving into position. A large storm, charged with plasma, was moving in. The _Uhuru_ would lose contact with them briefly. _They won't be able to see us, we won't be able to see them_. This made Marín uneasy. Normally, she would have taken her wraith into the atmosphere and watched them herself. But in light of what had recently transpired, she didn't want to agitate anyone further. She would have to be content with the war table's holographic map and its inscrutable colored icons. As it was, the planet was carpeted with the red dots and triangles that denoted the location of Grellna's brood. Everyone who had attended the morning briefing had been taken aback by its size.

Marín felt an unusual dread at having both Stukov and Vermaak in play in a vulnerable position. They didn't have the numbers to perform an all-out assault, and what Stukov had proposed—stealing Grellna's forces out from under her—sounded like madness. She hoped he could pull it off, and that Vermaak could keep him from getting killed long enough for him to do it. And so she stood waiting for any sign that they had made headway, ready to command her forces to assist them.

The comm chimed. Marín spun around to face Barre. _Already?_ She thought. _Or is there a problem on the surface…_

"It's Gen. Oyaleni. She's requesting permission to board and to meet with you?" Barre said. Marín balked at the odd request.

"I spoke to her a few hours ago. What does she want?"

"She didn't say. Just said it was important."

"Well, don't make her wait. Let her dock."

"She's requesting the port hangar?"

"That's… fine?"

Marín thought it was odd that Oyaleni would be coming to her now after having attended the morning briefing mere hours ago. She had been uncharacteristically demure in it, but Marín had chalked that up to her acceptance of their situation after her rebuke and finally perhaps her seeing the value in the fleet's current direction. She had hoped that Oyaleni would eventually see reason and maybe now she was. Marín searched her mind for a time in which she would have given Oyaleni reason to not trust her or a time in which she had maligned her in some way. She couldn't think of anything. _There probably isn't any one thing_ , she thought, _and it may be nothing. It's probably not personal, though it seems as though it has become that way._

The door to the lift hissed open. Oyaleni strode out onto the bridge. As ever, her face was stern and flat, no indication of her mood.

"General, what can I do for you?" Marín said. Oyaleni looked to the side of the bridge towards Ahlberg and Barre.

"Get them out of here," Oyaleni said flatly. Marín's eyes narrowed. Was this an indication that a high-clearance meeting was to take place or just a heated exchange? Oyaleni wavered, seeming to relent. "For now." Marín looked over to Barre and Ahlberg and nodded. Both of them walked to the lift. As the doors closed, Marín caught Ahlberg's eye. They exchanged meaningful glances. He would wait for word from her, and if it didn't come, he would return, Oyaleni be damned. The last thing that Marín wanted was to be cornered in a yelling match with Oyaleni who was more than her match physically.

"Well, now that they're gone…" Marín started.

"Maybe we should talk about this in your office."

"Fine," Marín said, shrugging. As she turned towards her office, she heard something click behind her. Having lived with a soldier for many years and having a firearm herself, she recognized the noise—the sound of a holster as it was pulled open. Marín instinctively dove sideways, seeking safety crouching behind the war table. A pulse of energy flew behind her; she could feel its heat on her back.

"I knew you would be fucking annoying about this."

"You mean not wanting to die?" Marín said incredulously.

"For pete's sake, it's a stun pistol, Renata. You know that."

"I'm sorry, can't say I got a good look at it while you were _trying to shoot me in the back_!"  
Oyaleni took two large strides towards the table and to the side on which Marín was hiding. Marín quickly slid on the ground away from her, keeping the table between them and hugging close to its solid base. She looked around. If Oyaleni chased her around the table one more side, she could maybe make a break for it to her office. Marín kept a stun pistol of her own there in her desk, and she could lock the door from inside.

"Quit hiding and _face_ me. You're a danger to the fleet and yourself…"

"Like _hell_ I am, Jane. What has gotten into you? Do _you_ want to be in charge of the fleet? Is that what this is about?"

"This is about your irresponsibility… First what you did to Vermaak…"

"What? You think that was _my_ fault?"

She heard Oyaleni move again and she made a dash for the other side of the table and the door. But what she had thought was Oyaleni running around the table was actually her sliding across it. But Marín had committed to the action, digging in and sprinting the few meters to her office. The door opened as she heard the whine and arc of the stun pistol and felt it burning on her back, electricity climbing up her spine and causing her muscles to spasm involuntarily and painfully as it worked its way through her nervous system. She landed half in and half out of her office, kicking, knowing that if she stopped moving it would hurt and cause her to curl up and lose consciousness. She struggled to her knees and inside the door.

"Adjutant, shut and lock office door!" she managed to pull her body into a ball just on the other side of her office door as the windowed glass-and-neosteel door slid closed behind her. She could hear Oyaleni banging on it, shouting muffled curses. She lifted her head wearily, dragging herself behind her desk. She heard Oyaleni pound on the door angrily one last time. Marín reached up slowly and painfully—she knew she didn't have long. She pulled her datapad onto the floor and groped around for her stun pistol. Her mind was getting fuzzy, but she knew she had to get the word out.

"Ad… adjutant… Ahlberg…"

"Admiral?"

"Mutiny."

The room went dark, but she wasn't sure whether it was her or the power. She lost consciousness, slumping against her desk.

* * *

Warning klaxons began blaring on the lower decks. Dauphin didn't know what they signified, but she could guess. They were different than the _Kuznetsov_ 's—more electronic and quicker. But even these were different than the ones that she had heard during the battle of Tyrador.

"Intruder alert," the adjutant intoned over the din.

" _What_ the _hell_ …" Dauphin heard KD say from inside the cell block.

"Who do you think it is?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Gregory said, his voice barely audible from Dauphin's cell, "The UED has found them. They're here to take us back."

Dauphin ignored him. It could be the UED, she thought, but they weren't here to take them back. Dauphin heard running and shouting in the hallway. Then gunfire but with laser weapons—not the kind the UED normally carried. There was yelling and a sharp, aborted scream. From somewhere down the hallway, a booming voice yelled "If you would surrender peacefully—"

"Go to hell!" someone else shouted. More gunfire.

 _It's not the UED,_ Dauphin thought, _if they are on the_ Uhuru _, they would not bother with asking for surrender._

It was suddenly dark. A different, dimmer light came on.

"Auxilliary power," Gregory said.

"Duh," KD said.

There was a muffled explosion from somewhere deep in the ship. The klaxons stopped. The lights went off and stayed off. Primary and auxiliary power was offline. _Thankfully,_ Dauphin thought, life _support and gravity is on a twelve-hour battery—or at least it is on the_ Kuznetsov. A smaller ship, she reasoned, or an Umojan one, may have more or less time.

"Oh god. All the power's out," KD had come to the same realization that Dauphin had, "How many hours of life support…"

Dauphin began to respond, but a flash of white in the darkness caught her attention. It was Gregory running silently past. Dauphin stood up and put her arm through the cell's doorway. The forcefield was gone.

"Gregory, no! Come back! You don't know what's going on out there!"

Dauphin walked out into the hallway and stood for a moment allowing her eyes to adjust to the dark. When KD walked up behind her, she startled her.

"Well, come on. Let's follow our dumbass."

Dauphin and KD felt there way forward in the darkness; the brig was like a tomb with the lights off. Gregory had forced the door open. Both of them cautiously stepped into the hall. The fighting had passed. There were burn marks on the wall, lit by the weak light coming from the luminescent paint along the sides of the walkway. In the distance, someone screamed. They both flattened against the wall. Dauphin's heart pounded. Neither of them had weapons and had only a cursory knowledge of the layout of the ship.

"Where do we go from here?" KD said quietly. Dauphin didn't answer immediately as she considered her options.

"If I know Gregory, he's going to try to defect to the UED. And they most likely came aboard by the hangar bay. That's where he's headed."

 _If_ , she thought, _that's who started this._ _Could it be the protoss? That would explain the energy weapons…_ She thought about the Terran Republic. _Could they be making a play to control the Umojan fleet?_ She had no idea. The only member of the Terran Republic she had met was Nova, and her interactions with Marín didn't seem to indicate that those two factions had any underlying friction between them.

Dauphin and KD conferred quietly with each other. KD didn't have any better ideas, and so the two of them began walking towards the hangar deck. They had only been walking a few minutes and from somewhere ahead they heard movement and fighting again, so close they could see the flashes of their weapons—and the sounds were getting closer. Both froze; without weapons and without a clear escape, there was not much they could do. There was a shuffle of footfalls, and Dauphin felt someone's arms around her, grabbing her and KD and pulling them into the darkness of a storage closet she hadn't noticed until now. Dauphin recognized the pale hand on her hip. It was Gregory. He pushed them further into the closet and shushed them. Dauphin tripped over something and fell in the darkness as Gregory crouched down and quietly closed the door.

Just as he did, Dauphin heard running footsteps clamour quickly by. After they left, Gregory opened the door a crack and looked out.

"Who were they?" Dauphin said, still sprawled on the floor.

"All Umojans. Soldiers in fatigues—no CMCs—and naval officers fighting one another."

"Sounds like an old-fashioned mutiny," KD said, standing over Gregory and peering out the door.

"It does," Gregory said.

"Why would they mutiny against Admiral Marín?"

"Who knows?" Gregory said.

"Who cares?" KD added.

Gregory pulled a small flashlight out of his shirt, clicked it on and slid it to Dauphin. He pulled another metal object out of his waistband. Dauphin picked up the flashlight and focused it on Gregory. The light glinted off the object—it was a pistol.

"Where did you get that?" Dauphin asked.

"Behind you."

Dauphin turned to find the body of a naval officer crumpled on the floor. A chill ran from the top of her head to the bottoms of her feet. She realized what she had tripped on earlier was his boot. His neck looked as though it had been broken; his skin was pale in the light of her flashlight. For reasons she didn't quite understand, she didn't want Gregory to be a killer, though she "knew" he was. The Directorate ciculated propaganda saying Ghosts were genetically predisposed to violence and aberrant behavior. And despite that Dauphin knew that a lot of what the UED said was manipulative—trying to get her to believe or behave a certain way—that didn't mean that she wasn't conditioned after hearing it repeatedly to be subconsciously prejudiced against psionics. What didn't help is that she knew what kind of training ghosts went through. They were trained to be cold (the UED said it honed their nature) and to kill without hesitation. _Was this his first kill?_ She thought. _It is his first real mission_. There was a disconnect for her between the man who looked barely older than a child—and acted naively like a child—and the powerful ghost that undoubtedly had killed despite not having "been on a mission." _They're used as assassins and personal guards… And someone like Gregory would be in demand—if they knew just how powerful he was… he probably already has a body count… even without his suit and with two dampeners, he's still very dangerous…_

"From what I can tell, the soldiers are the rogue faction. That man back there," Gregory said, motioning with his head to the downed naval officer, "has a symbol on him that I recognize as the _Uhuru_ 's. The soldiers don't."

"Do they have something different?"

"Yes, but I don't know what it means. Another ship maybe?"

"Two Umojan ships fighting each other? Why would they do that?"

"They're backwater in-bred idiots?"

"Gregory…"

"What? I don't know! Isn't Marín the Fleet Admiral now? Didn't the real one die? Maybe someone's not happy about that."

Dauphin went silent, considering. It was as good a guess as any, she supposed.

"You got another one of those?" KD asked, indicating the pistol.

Gregory smirked and revealed another one, giving it to her. Dauphin's face was hot with anger; tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. She turned away and dabbed her eyes with her sleeve, trying not to show she was upset. She wasn't sure _why_ she was upset. The people on the _Uhuru_ weren't her people and she shouldn't care if they died. If they left here, she didn't want to go back to her own, but being alone in this sector—somewhere away from the conflict—would be just as good. She came here because she was afraid—of Reeves, the UED, and what they would do to someone like Gregory. Or the kind of person she had _thought_ Gregory was.

"Why'd you have to do that?"

"What?"

"Kill those men."

"What do you mean?"

"You could have run. You could have hid. But you _killed_ them. What are they going to do if they find us?" Gregory quietly shut the door and turned on his heels, dipping slowly to his knees on the floor. He faced her, confused, his large green eyes watching her intently. Idly, he pulled at the disrupter collar around his neck.

"Carolyn…"

"No, you listen to me. I don't care what you are, and how you were trained…"

"What I _am_?" Gregory said, his voice rising.

"But what will we do if they catch us? What will they do if they know the moment you escaped you _killed two people_ …" Gregory started laughing. "You're laughing about this? What is wrong with-."

"Carolyn," he said, holding up the pistol. "This is a stun pistol."

Dauphin was quiet again.

"What?"

"The Umojans carry them on their ships instead of projectile weapons. Less chance of explosive decompression… or friendly fire… They're a little more into safety than we are."

"A _stun_ pistol?" KD said. "How fucking boring… and no wonder I couldn't figure out how to cock it…"

Dauphin's face warmed again, this time with embarrassment. A captain in the UED _Destroyer Fleet_ should be able to tell a stun pistol from one that fired live ammunition.

"It was dark, okay? I'm sorry. Anyway, it's not like you… you've not _killed_ someone before."

Gregory looked away, not affirming or denying what she said. Behind her, the Umojan officer groaned quietly. Gregory stood slowly.

"We should go."

" _Where?_ "

"Off this ship. Get this… thing off me," he said, indicating the collar, "And get back to the fleet."

"Are you crazy? Reeves will kill you."

"No, he won't. He may brain pan me…"

"That's almost as bad!"

"Sounds like just what I need," Gregory said darkly. At this, Dauphin stood quickly, her anger returning. She punched him in the stomach. His muscles gave only slightly under her small fist and he barely reacted to it.

"Dumbass!"

"What was that for?"

"You want to forget everything? What a sad sack you are. You come to the Koprulu sector to avenge your father's death, find out he's alive, and even though he's _become a zerg,_ he loves you enough to _defect to the Umojan Protectorate_ to save your life. And what are you doing? Moping around like an idiot _coward_ and wishing your memories of him away—which is, probably, exactly what Reeves wants."

"He's not my-."

"The fuck he isn't, Gregory. He is. I saw that ship, it was his ship. I saw the pictures he kept… It's him, and—"

"I know, okay? I know." Gregory leaned against the door in the dark, resting his head against the door, making it clang with a hollow, metallic sound. In the darkness with the flashlight angled low on him, his high cheekbones and hollow cheeks stood out in sharp relief. Dauphin could tell he was clenching his jaw. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed, closing his eyes. "I read him the first time I saw him."

Dauphin blinked, confused.

"If you knew…"

"What would you do if you saw someone you hadn't seen in twenty years and they hadn't aged? They hadn't aged, but they looked like a living corpse, some weird… demon spawned by the zerg? What if that person was one of the few people you loved and even though he wasn't there even the _mention_ of his name kept you safe? And he couldn't keep _himself_ safe? He wasn't strong enough to fight off the evil…" Dauphin could tell he was getting emotional. He ran a hand through his short hair.

"So what chance do we have?"

"Yes."

"God, now you're freaking _me_ out," KD said. The three stayed in contemplative silence. KD played with the safety on her gun. Gregory was breathing deeply and rhymically, his eyes closed. He seemed to be meditating, getting his emotions under control. Dauphin was thinking about their options.

"We should go back to our cell or try to get to the bridge."

"No," Gregory said. "I don't want to be a prisoner anymore."

"Me neither," KD said.

"Guys, I'm not going back to the fleet," Dauphin said.

"Well, then what?" Gregory said.

"We could just leave… take our shuttle… go to Kel-Morian space. I'm sure we could find someone who would help us get that dampener off. We could just… live."

"Like pirates?" KD said hopefully.

"Uh, more like freelancers. We could use our ship to run supplies."

"I'm sure there are a lot of people looking for ghosts for when they, uh, don't want to do something themselves," KD said.

"Exactly. They won't ask questions."

Gregory sighed.

"Fine. I don't care as long as we get _out_ of here…"

* * *

An overlord carefully lowered the psi emitter on the ground, its tentacles tightly wrapped around it. As the device settled, the tentacles slowly unfurled, lifting back up into the sky. It was the tenth time that an overlord had repositioned it, and Stukov was hopeful it was the last. He had captured dozens of overlords and had increased his zerg army by tenfold. All the while he had kept Grellna blind by filtering their minds back through her overlords, making it seem like they were still attached to her. This new brood howled in his mind, and he could feel the psionic of power of the zerg surging through his body. Stukov felt infinite, powerful, and weightless, but cold, unfeeling, and restless. Intrusive thoughts—killing the marines around him, raising them, then overthrowing Grellna and supplanting her to stay here and bask in the zerg's power—tempted him. But he clung to the despair he felt over his children in danger, his rage at Reeves and now Oyaleni, and his new, unnamed feelings for Marín. As he kept working with Vermaak scooping up zerg and killing what couldn't be subdued, they were encountering less and less resistance. Because his brood was now so large, any new zerg they found recognized his power and would come running to him, ready to submit. But it still was not enough. Grellna had nearly no tactical prowess that Stukov could discern. She lacked manyflying zerg, _And we need them desperately—especially if we plan to subdue her, leave the planet, and challenge the mutineers._

 _Izsha,_ he thought, able to contact her telepathically now that a critical mass of zerg had been gathered, _what is the status of the Umojan fleet?_

 _Unchanged, Admiral. It seems to be a stalemate._

 _Good._

 _Do you wish me to intervene?_

 _No, Izsha. Stay away. You do not have the resources aboard the leviathan to make a difference, and the_ Aleksander _is still weakened. You will only bring harm to yourself. Keep away and await my instructions._

 _Yes, Admiral._

The new wave came to him, and he did a mental tally networked with Izsha and the overlords, mounting a nearby hilltop to survey them. His feet barely touched the ground. It had happened before, but not to this extent—controlling this many zerg had unlocked a form of telekinesis in him. He wondered if this was how Kerrigan managed to fly and how she had lifted her forces from Tarsonis's surface after killing Mengsk. It had been a frightening experience for him, though he knew that Kerrigan would not have let him fall. Stukov paused for a moment, spreading his arms and trying to lift off the ground. Nothing happened. He laughed at himself. _I'll never be Kerrigan_. _Even if I commanded all the zerg, I started out as merely a man. She was already a force even before she became their queen. My power, even at its zenith, would_ never _rival Kerrigan's_.

"What are you doing?" A gruff voice said behind him.

"Surveying our troops," Stukov said, turning to him nonchalantly. Vermaak was looking at him suspiciously, his visor up and his eyes squinting in the somehow both bright and grey day. The rain had stopped, but a misting fog remained, the planet's nearby sun making the sky bright and opaque. Vermaak crossed his arms.

"Looked like you were doing some dance."

"No, of course not," Stukov said, annoyance in his voice. "Just stretching."

"We ready to move on Grellna? My men are itching to go. This is taking too long.

"No, not yet."

"Why?" Vermaak said angrily. Stukov motioned to the sky.

"Notice anything missing, General?"

Vermaak looked up for a moment, and then he sighed and frowned.

"We've still got no air."

"None to speak of, no. I need an intact hatchery complex—one that's connected to a spire."

"What's the plan then?"

"Instead of taking the main hive and Grellna in one attack, we take one of her satellite hatcheries. It will alert her to our presence, but it will give us what we need to stop the mutiny…"

"Well, you've got the man—zerg—power to do it. Lead the way."

"Ehh, I was thinking that your men may lead this time? Having Grellna think an outside force is attacking her… and a small one at that…"

"It'll catch her off guard."

"You're okay with that?" Vermaak walked past him to survey the zerg brood, organized by Stukov into neat rows and phalanxes. He was quiet for a moment. Stukov couldn't help but begin to peer in his mind; his power was too tempting now and he barely had control. But Vermaak turned to speak to him.

"No, but I understand it," Vermaak sighed.

"Then we should move quickly."

"Right. I'll get my people on the move… But this is gonna change things. How do you think Grellna will react?"

"She will send too small of a reprisal. When my forces emerge, she will know what we have done. She will most likely act to protect herself and her main hive—the seat of her power. It will be harder to dislodge her without a siege."

"But that's what we _don't_ want."

"Indeed. There will be massive zerg losses on both sides. I don't see a way around it if we want to leave quickly and resc… uh, stop the mutiny." Vermaak gave him a sideways glance at his misstep. Stukov had almost revealed that he was more concerned about Marín's state than the state of the fleet. Stukov tried not to react. It probably seemed plausible to Vermaak that he'd merely chosen the wrong word. Vermaak let it go.

"Huh," Vermaak said. He stood for a moment in brooding silence. "Let's not plan on that just yet. I'll send my shadow guards out for some reconnaissance. They might find another way in, or a weakness…"

"Perhaps." Vermaak grunted and started trudging away.

"I'll let you know when we're ready," Vermaak.

"Very well," Stukov said. Vermaak didn't stop and was halfway down the hill when Stukov reached out to him telepathically. _I wish you and your marines success_. Vermaak stopped, his back to Stukov. He turned around slowly in his CMC. In the distance, thunder grumbled, signifying another storm was coming. Vermaak turned around and stalked back up the hill. He towered over Stukov, jabbing one of his mechanical fingers towards his chest.

"Don't you _ever_ get in my head again, understood?" Stukov squinted at him.

"What exactly do you not want me to see, General?" Stukov said.

"Nothing. A man has a right to his thoughts. I don't take that shit from my shadow guards, I'm sure not gonna take it from _you_."

"How do you expect me to contact you then? Semaphore? Smoke signals?" Vermaak opened the face plate on his helmet and ripped a headset off of his shaved head. He threw it at Stukov. He caught it, clutching it to his chest.

"I'll get myself another when I get back to base camp. But I swear to god, Stukov. If I find out you're poking around in my head, I'll make sure you don't make it off this rock." Stukov frowned. It was an empty threat. _Vermaak has no idea how powerful I have become_.

"I assure you I would not pry into your private thoughts unless I had a good reason. But… if we need to… talk this out…" he said, his eyes flaring with psionic power, "we can settle our differences later." Vermaak was undeterred, staring him down with his cold, grey eyes. Finally, he turned to walk away.

"If you need to talk to me, Stukov. Use the headset!" As Vermaak walked out of sight, he begrudgingly put it on.

To pass the time as Vermaak and his troops got ready, he assessed Grellna as a threat, pushing his overlords to the perimeter of her base to spy on her. From afar the overlords seemed friendly, but up close and in range of the hive and its crawlers, they would trigger their defenses. They were not as effective as shadow guards; they could not wend and maneuver their way through a base the way a ghost or shadow guard could. Stukov was eager to hear what Vermaak's people had found. His link with the zerg and his overlords could only tell them how many zerg there were and vague positioning. But idly he wondered what Vermaak could be hiding. _Most likely nothing. Many people—especially soldiers like Vermaak—object to being "read." I never cared, but I've never had much to hide. I'm not ashamed of my thoughts. If you catch me thinking something you don't like, so be it. Everyone has thoughts they aren't proud of; that's hard to control._ Still, it bothered him, especially with what he had seen in the shuttle—his fear of infestation and that he would harm Marín. His own imagination started to go wild. What had Oyaleni done to keep Marín from contacting them? Was she injured? Could she be dead? _Surely Oyaleni would not go that far_ , he thought. But he couldn't be sure. _And Gregory is on that ship. What of him?_ Rage quietly simmered inside him. _I'll know soon enough_.

"We're in position," Vermaak said over the headset he had given Stukov. Through the eyes of an overlord overhead, he surveyed Vermaak's troops: three platoons of marines, a dozen or so goliaths, and a few siege tanks. More than enough to take this minor hatchery, but not enough to take on Grellna.

"I am ready."

Stukov watched as Vermaak and his men ambushed the satellite zerg base. They concentrated on the few spore and spine crawlers protecting the hatchery. It was not well defended. Zerglings, a few hydralisks and roaches emerged to challenge them, but little else. As Stukov glided off the hill, he could feel Grellna marshaling her forces—but she was underestimating the size of their army—just as he thought she would. Around him, his forces surged forward. He wouldn't be able to subdue zerg that were directly controlled by Grellna without disrupting them. They would have to be destroyed. His army flowed around the siege tanks and through the ranks of Vermaak's men, shielding them from Grellna's attack. The small attack was put down quickly in a frenzy of teeth and claws.

"Well. That was… something," Vermaak said as Stukov walked towards him.

"Don't get used to it. Grellna knows we are here now. She will be gathering her forces. We don't have much time."

Stukov made his way to the hatchery. It was a being unto itself, coming from a drone and before that a larvae, just like any other zerg. But it was under Grellna's control. In his mind, it screamed at him. Drones and larva skittered away from Stukov, the larvae burrowing into the ground. In desperation, Grellna was trying to mutate them into something. He needed to get control over the hatchery. He knelt and touched the creep-covered ground with is infested hand. From it, infestation burrowed towards the hatchery, piercing the roots of the structure and working their way up. The hatchery, still controlled by Grellna, fought back, trying to heal itself. Its larvae were evolving—and quickly. She would try to send something at him soon. He pulled some of his zerg towards him just in case. But the hatchery was weakened. Tendrils of infestation burst through its outer layer of skin. From the wounds in its sides, broodlings emerged, attacking the mutating larvae and some nearby drones that had broken off from their jobs to defend the base. Finally, the hatchery fell silent. It was his now. He withdrew the infestation, willing the hatchery to abort its current larvae and spawn new ones. Grellna's larvae burst in an explosion of ichor.

Hours went by. Stukov took his time amassing as many flying zerg as he could. Grellna was doing exactly what he thought that she would: fortifying herself at her main hatchery, waiting for him to strike and hoping to overwhelm them. The broodqueen would not come to him. _She knows I have stolen from her now; she will be ready. No matter. She will still fall_. But Stukov had doubts. _We must reassess our strategy. A simple siege would cost many of the zerg we came here to claim…_ _I hope Vermaak's shadow guards have found something useful_.

"You're taking too long, Stukov."

"We've got what we need," Stukov said, looking up at the sky now darkened by mutalisks, broodlords, and corrupters, "The question is if you have good intel for me."

"Good? Heh, you're going to _love_ this."

* * *

Dauphin, KD, and Gregory crossed the midline of the ship and made their way to the starboard hangar. Immediately, they encountered less resistance. _The mutineers must have landed in the port hangar,_ Dauphin reasoned, _that makes sense; when we came aboard, we came in through the starboard hangar. The deck chief had an office there, and it looked as though most soldiers are deployed from that side. Going to the port side would be less of a hassle._ She also thought that they probably would have known that information and used it against the crew.

When they got to the hangar, the door was sealed. Gregory handed his pistol to her and took her flashlight, shining it around the door to see if there was a concealed emergency panel. To her dismay, there was one—just above the tall, round door. With one foot on the wall and the flashlight in his teeth, the was able to jump up and pry the panel loose with his long, thin fingers. Bobbling again, his hand disappeared inside. He made a triumphant noise, muffled by the flashlight. Something up there gave, and the door cracked down the middle with a pneumatic hiss. Cool air from the hangar rushed in. It was fresher than the smaller space in the corridor.

Inside, the hangar was completely dark. So dark, that it looked like there was a wall of black in front of them and no room beyond. Gregory flattened himself against the wall beside the door. The hangar was silent. He swung his flashlight left and right, squinting into the darkness. All they could see were ships strapped to the floor and supplies tied down with netting. Stations were setup here and there—Dauphin had seen setups like them before and had been through one herself after coming back from the _Aleksander_. They were sanitization kiosks setup to detect and fight against infestation. Gregory motioned that it was okay to enter. He gave the flashlight back to Dauphin and took the pistol from her. When they all were inside, he pulled the emergency latch from the other side, resealing the door.

"If you see anything that might be useful in here, pick it up. We have no idea how long we'll be on the shuttle. Or who we'll meet when we set down," Gregory said quietly, in his odd, nasal way of speaking, in a voice more tempered than she had heard him speak in days. _He's used to this,_ she realized, _all this sneaking around_ … "Keep to cover," he said. They picked their way around cargo and small ships. When they came to the chief's shack, Gregory motioned for her to keep the flashlight down. He crept up on the cargo container, opening the door slowly so that it would not make noise. Like a shadow, he slipped inside the office. A few moments later, he signaled that they could come in. The two of them followed him. Dauphin relaxed. There was only one crudely cut window in the chief's office, and she wasn't holed up inside. From the inside of the office, they could see most of the bay without anyone seeing them. And since the door to the hangar was closed, no one would be suspicious that someone was inside. Gregory lowered himself to the floor, bouncing on his heels as he rummaged through the detritus piled around in the office.

"This place is filthy—feels like home," KD said.

"You would say that. This _does_ look like your side of our apartment,"

"You two live together?" Gregory said, looking over his shoulder.

"Unfortunately…" Dauphin said, slowly realizing what he meant, "But, oh, not like that."

"She likes the girls, just not me," KD said, laughing.

"Shut up. I like both, thanks."

"That's, like, worse somehow. You could be attracted to anyone, just not me."

"You're my friend, and you're a walking train wreck. If we were 'together,' I would have killed you by now."

Gregory gave them both a look like they had volunteered more information than he needed. He continued to open the crates and toolboxes that were strewn around the office.

"What are you looking for?"

"Something to get this damn thing off my neck. And there should be a generator somewhere… Would be nice if she kept it in…" Gregory moved a crate away from the wall, and in the corner behind it was a large, yellow-and-black stripped metal object about twice the size of a footlocker. He ran his hands over it excitedly. "It's not a generator, but it will work. I guess they use powercells instead." He lifted one end. "It's heavy," he said, putting it back down.

"We can help…"

"No."

"What?"

"I can easily do this myself if we can get this _fucking_ thing off me," he said, pointing to the large, white, metallic band around his throat. "There has to be something here that we can pry this off with. I need… a phase spanner… That would disrupt its power systems… But then what? It would just come back on if it wasn't physically disrupted."

"What about this?" KD pulled a very, _very_ large pair of bolt cutters off a shelf.

"I don't think… maybe? That's… crude? It might work, or there could be some sort of failsafe involved that would instantly kill me if we brute forced it..."

"If there's a bomb in it, it's a small one," KD said.

"It doesn't have to be big if it's sitting on your carotid artery."

"…True."

"Let's not do this. Not here. Let's wait and do some research… Maybe on the way to Kel-Morian space…"

"If there's a bomb in it, we don't want it going off in a small pressurized cabin. Best to do it here where it will cause the least damage."

"You mean it will just kill _you_."

"Yes."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Gregory shrugged. He looked at KD. "You want to help me? You don't sound like you care if I live or die…"

"I… wouldn't say _that_."

"Lies. I'll use the spanner, you cut it off." Gregory walked to the other side of the office and pulled a work bench away from the wall and unceremoniously swept all the tools on it off onto the floor. He hopped up on it, readying the spanner. "Nurse KD… Are you ready for surgery."

"Yes, Doctor Patient."

"I'd like to remind you two idiots that the powercell is in here… If there's an explosion…"

"If there's an explosion, I die, KD will be injured, the powercell will be damaged, and you don't want to go back anyway, so there's no point in moving it. Go outside. There's no reason for you to be hurt."

Dauphin thought about leaving. But standing there was her best friend and… Gregory looked at her expectantly, vaguely smirking, his barely-visible blonde eyebrows arched in a question. She could see the resemblance between him and his father now. _They're both jackasses…_ She sighed inwardly.

"No, I'm staying here… But I'm getting behind this fucking desk." She tipped over Jansa's metal desk and ducked behind it.

"Fine. Ready?" KD steeled herself, positioning the bolt cutters just under the collar. She slipped one blade under the collar. Electricity arched out and shocked her. KD yelped and Gregory growled and almost slipped off the table, cursing a litany of words in a language she didn't understand.

"You can't _touch_ it like that. See? I can move it with my fingers…" He wiggled it up and down, "but if you touch it with anything metal…" As he lifted it, he showed them the series of burns he had on his neck, the new one bright red. _God, he's been trying to remove it this whole time_. "Wait until I've hit it with the spanner—and put on some gloves." KD looked around. Dauphin searched the desk and found some, throwing them to KD. They were too small for her hands, but they would have to do.

KD maneuvered the bolt cutters close to Gregory's neck—carefully this time, leaning away from him. Gregory bent his neck more, giving her more room.

"Okay. Let's try this again… Wait for me this time…" Gregory brought the spanner to his neck, and when it was millimeters away, he turned it on, arcing plasma towards the collar. "It's _off! Do it now!"_ KD thrust the bolt cutters up, hooking the collar. Gregory gasped and choked as the dull side of the blade tightened the collar against his neck. With a mighty thrust, KD leveraged the two arms of the bolt cutters together. Dauphin closed her eyes and ducked behind the desk. There was an audible pop and a crunch and… _Then a large metallic bang_. Dauphin screamed. There was silence for a moment. Dauphin squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, not wanting to see what had just happened.

"Carolyn?" KD said. Dauphin was relieved that KD wasn't hurt. Dauphin looked up slowly from behind the desk. She didn't want to see him. She imagined a gaping hole in his neck spurting blood. He wasn't making noise—he had to have died instantly. But when she rose above the desk, Gregory was sitting there unharmed, a devious smile on his face and the collar half on and half off his neck. In his hand was his pistol—which he had banged against the metal workbench. Dauphin shot up from behind the desk, her face feeling hot and on the verge of tears again. He started laughing. She walked swiftly over him, tripping slightly on something that was on the floor, making him laugh harder. When she got close, she whipped the flashlight out of her pocket and threw it at him. His laughing turned to chuckling and he caught it. But Dauphin wasn't done. She tackled him, throwing him off the table and onto the floor. He didn't resist. Straddling him on the floor, she pummeled him with blows.

"Ow! Stop! I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_. The look on your face…" He caught her hands and sat up, looking her in the eye. There was a glimmer of uncertainty in them, and then he was laughing quietly again. "I'm sorry. I won't do something like that again, I promise. He pulled her to him and hugged her gently. Dauphin froze. It was an awkward position—she was now basically sitting on his lap. "That was pretty good though, yes? KD?"

"You're such an asshole… but yeah, you almost make me piss myself. So, I guess, 'pretty good.'"

Gregory leaned back from Dauphin, reclining on his elbows. He looked at her bemusedly.

"You going to let me up, or do you like it there?"

Dauphin felt her cheeks grow hot again. She turned away from him and stood. Gregory rolled to his feet and pried the rest of the collar off.

"Now, want to see something better than 'pretty good?'"

"Uh, sure?" KD said. Dauphin crossed her arms, deciding that she was done with Gregory for now and would not engage him.

The door to Jansa's office flew open. The powercell in the corner lifted up of its own accord, flying slowly towards it and out of the office.

"Nice," KD said. They both followed. Dauphin followed behind them, stewing, picking up her flashlight as she left. The trio, powercell in tow, walked towards the large hangar bay door. Gregory felt around the side of the door an popped a panel off near it.

"Carolyn, I need the flashlight… please."

Wordlessly, Dauphin pressed it into his hand and walked away, leaning against the wall nearby.

"These people really do things differently," he muttered. "This… is not where I'd thought it would be… is it on the other side, maybe?" Dauphin didn't answer. He looked at her and Dauphin turned sharply to him. Gregory went back to working in the panel.

"I could… use your help… Another set of eyes," Gregory said. Dauphin rolled her eyes.

"I can help," KD said.

"No," Gregory said quickly.

"What?" KD said incredulously.

"Uhh, we need weapons. And see if you can find a shadow guard uniform. I think I saw some lockers on that far wall."

"It's pitch dark in here!"

"I'm sure there's a flashlight around…"

KD left in a huff.

"Please help me, Carolyn?"

Dauphin sighed. "Fine."

"Here, take the flashlight," Gregory said. He turned around and sat down, scooting his back towards the wall so that he could stick his head and arms up into the panel. "Shine it up here for me, please." Dauphin knelt next to him and shined the flashlight up into the space behind the panel. She wouldn't look at him.

"Look, I'm sorry… If I had known…"

"Known what?" Dauphin said quickly.

"Known that you would react that way…"

"React like a decent human being who cares about someone else?"

"Sure. That's one way of putting it… I'm a ghost. I'm just not _used_ to that. I'm used to people caring about what I can _do_ for them, not actually me."

"How do you know _I'm_ not like that?"

"Because you would have stayed in the brig. And you wouldn't have acted the way you did when you thought I had died."

"Most people would have reacted that way to a person dying. No one wants to see someone die."

"I suppose you're right."

He worked on in silence, pulling cables and discarding them, trying to find the right one.

"Of course, I care about you. I care about KD. I even care about your dad—and that Umojan admiral that saved us. Maybe I just care about people."

"Well, I'm just glad to be on someone's list, finally."

"Ghost training… must be a lot rougher than I imagined."

"Oh, it is. I'll tell you all about it… If we ever get the fuck out of here…" Gregory rummaged around more. He yanked on something—hard. Whatever it was came loose and scraped up against the side of the panel. "Op! Wait. Ah. Here it is." Gregory pulled a long, large cable down from the panel. On the end of it was a large metal port the side of a fist. Extending his other arm, he beckoned the powercell over beside him.

"Do you see the terminal on it?" Gregory said. Dauphin turned the flashlight towards it, stopping at an L-shaped groove.

"Is this it?"

"Yes, that's it." He pulled the cable further out. "Wait, it's not on, is it?" Dauphin searched with the flashlight.

"No, I've found the on switch though. Do you want me to…"

"No! No, don't. If I plug this in and it's on, the hangar bay door will open—we haven't even found your shuttle yet."

"Oh. Yeah… But how are we going to turn it on from the shuttle?"

"I can do it," he said, plugging the cable into the powercell.

"Oh. Right. Telekinesis."

KD returned, and to Dauphin's surprise, she had found a large work light, two rifles and a live-ammo pistol, and had stuffed a large rucksack full of rations and assorted clothing.

"I even found toothpaste."

"Okay? Great? Did you find me a…" Gregory said. KD pulled out a thin, black, form-fitting uniform—a shadow guard's protective gear.

"Yessss… Let's go."

It didn't take them long to find their ship, mothballed at the back of the hanger under a metal mesh net. They removed the net and keyed open the door. It seemed like no one had been inside since they had been dragged aboard. As the doors opened, stale air rushed out as the shuttle came to life, pumping fresh oxygen mix into the cabin. Dauphin inhaled it greedily. She was thankful for the fresh air. The air onboard the _Uhuru_ was starting to get a little stale. They boarded, and out of habit, Dauphin immediately took the captain's seat and began prepping the shuttle for launch. KD closed the hatch, and Gregory began sorting what KD had found into the storage bins on the shuttle. He left the shadow guard uniform out.

KD slipped into the seat beside her while Dauphin finished her engine checks.

"Course laid in for Kel-Morian territory…" KD said, tracing her finger across the map in front of her on her console.

"Good. Engine check within normal parameters… Looks like we've got a full tank of fuel… Greg…"

She turned to Gregory in time to watch Gregory unzip his brig shift to his pelvis and start peeling it off. Dauphin had noticed that he was thin, but it hadn't occurred to her that he would be mostly muscle. His abdominals were sharply visible, as was the line separating them from his hip flexors. She was used to seeing soldiers walking around in various stages of undress, but she couldn't recall seeing anyone with as drastic of a body composition. _Yet again, something about the Directorate's ghost program that seems insane._

Not noticing that Dauphin was watching, Gregory turned and pulled his pants and boots off, his back muscles rippling as he bent over. Finally, he was standing only in his underwear. He walked over to where he had set the shadow guard uniform and picked it up, putting his feet through it, stretching and pulling it over his body. It must have been a "one size fits all" situation. The suit outlined every muscle in his body. Dauphin couldn't help but be mesmerized. Even from behind, he had considerable assets to ogle. Pulling the hood over the back of his head, he disappeared. Dauphin jumped up in her seat, started. Gregory turned around. Only his face was visible.

"Heh, you like it?"

"Why is…."

"There's a mask. It's in the bag. Just wanted to make sure the suit fit." He peeled back the hood and the suit became visible again. There he was, his slim silhouette accentuated by the black suit. Her eyes started to wander again. _Okay, time to ease off your main thruster, Carolyn._ She started to turn back to her console. Gregory took a few steps forward, kicking his brig shift. A small, plastic object skittered across the floor. He followed it and picked it up. Dauphin looked down at it.

"Is that your dad's ID?"

"Yes."

"Have you read the note yet?"

"No," he said flatly, putting it in one of his suits almost invisible pockets.

"Maybe you should do that soon."

"Maybe."

Dauphin faced her console and started the shuttle's engines.

"Ready to go?"

Gregory came forward into the cockpit, leading into it, placing one hand on the back of Dauphin's chair and the other on the back of KD's

"Get us closer to the powercell—and the door."

"I can't get us too close. If we're near the door when it opens, the explosive decompression could pull us into it."

"Do whatever is safest—and closest."

"Okay…"

The shuttle slowly drifted forward maneuvering over other ships that were tethered in the bay for the purpose of avoiding what was about to happen—explosive decompression flushing a ship out into space. Dauphin had her hand on the reverse thrusters, just in case things got out of hand. Gregory closed his eyes. She could tell he was reaching out with his mind. A few seconds later, the hangar bay door cracked open almost imperceptivity. A thin line of light shown through around its bottom edge. She could hear the air rushing around them, and the shuttle began moving forward slowly. Easing the throttle back, she canceled their momentum. The door began opening wider, pulling them forward again. Air rushed loudly by them, as did the detritus in the hangar that hadn't been secured. Boxes, guns, ammunition, uniforms, spanners, and someone's bicycle. Its wheel bounced against the nose of the shuttle. _Oops, someone's going to miss that._

The door was halfway open, and Dauphin let the decompression slowly drag them forward. _This has to look accidental_ , she thought.

"What are you waiting for, Carolyn?" Gregory said. "The door's open! Let's go!"

"Excuse me, I'm the pilot," she said "If you want to walk to Kel-Morian space, you keep complaining. And if you want to be a pancake somewhere in this shuttle when we start moving, you better get your skinny ass strapped into one of those seats back there."

"Heh. Fine."

The door opened to three-fourths of its full height. Dauphin let go of the throttle and let the shuttle move on its own, powered by the decompression. Almost immediately, the back end bucked, reacting to the decompression and being lighter at the back than at the front. She hit the maneuvering thrusters to force the back down, but then they twisted to the side. Dauphin decided not to fight it. They definitely would look like debris if the shuttle exited the hangar dorsal-side first. Flying by instrumentation, and bursting the maneuvering thrusters, she made sure that they would fit through the opening that way, and that they didn't twist again when they reached the door. She glanced back briefly when Gregory started yelling and—she assumed—swearing again, bracing himself against the floor with both legs, trying to stay in his seat.

"I guess we're even, huh?"

Gregory yelled something in a high-pitched voice that she didn't understand.

The shuttle exited the hangar door ungracefully. Once they were in open space, Dauphin hit the thruster slightly so they would appear to spin in the cloud of debris that the decompression had aspirated into space.

As they drifted away from the _Uhuru_ , Dauphin looked back on the Umojan fleet. The _Uhuru_ was drifting, and several ships were protecting it. Still more were faced off against them. Dauphin heard Gregory unlatch his restraints and pad back up to the cockpit.

"Where's my—I mean, where are the zerg?"

"I don't know."

"He's abandoned them," Gregory said stiffly.

Dauphin couldn't see any evidence to the contrary. She changed their trajectory, matching it with KD's plans, and as they turned, the fleet faded from view, blending into the dark velvet of space.

* * *

By the time Horner had messaged Valerian, Nova was already onboard and the _Oppenheimer_ was spinning up to FTL. Valerian hesitated when the message came through. He knew what Horner would say. He had seen the Umojan ships warp in, and he had seen them posturing around Marín's _Core Fleet_ from the _Oppenheimer_ 's war table. Horner would think he had something to do with the mutiny, and he did not—not directly anyway. He had sown the seeds of discord, but he wanted a bloodless coup and for someone else—anyone else—to be installed as the Umojan Fleet Admiral. Horner he could manipulate. Artanis was too good to recognize subterfuge, but Marín had fallen in with Stukov and was wary of him because of the incident with Nova—and his past. It was his fault, but he wanted a blank slate, but not if it required a fight amongst the Umojan fleet. _They have fewer ships than they need already_ , he thought, _hopefully they won't come to blows, but if they do…_ Valerian was upset with himself. His plans had backfired somewhat spectacularly. What bothered him the most is that technically the Umojans _were_ his people—whether they claimed him or not. He had been born there, and his mother was Umojan. In the people he had met onboard the _Uhuru,_ he had seen echoes of her in their customs and the way they spoke to him. It made him feel both out of place and strangely at home. But Marín somehow angered him, and he couldn't pinpoint why. He felt like he may have been trying to relate to her like he would his mother—and she was aggressively _not_ like her. It wasn't fair, but it also wasn't something he was consciously doing. Even so, he thought her the wrong person to lead the Umojan fleet. Valerian sighed.

"Adjutant, cancel FTL jump. Answer Admiral Horner."

Horner appeared above the _Oppenheimer_ 's war table. His jacket wasn't buttoned, and his hair looked as though it hadn't been brushed. He was pale, and his cheeks looked sunken. _I've seen him that way before… Drinking? That's not like him. Hm._

"Valerian…"

"I know what you're going to say. I had _nothing_ to do with this."

Horner sighed and rubbed his temples. _Is he hungover?_

"You know that's _not true_."

Valerian held up both hands in a placating gesture.

"I have spoken out of turn, and for that I am sorry. But I have had _no contact with the Umojan fleet_ since before the incident with Nova. I did _not_ promote a mutiny."

"But you did, Valerian. Stukov and I were _standing right there_."

"I don't know what to tell you. I just didn't want Marín. I swear on my _life_ I did _not_ orchestrate this."

Horner sighed again.

"I don't know what to do with you, Val." Horner waved his hands, "You're like a dog that _wants_ to be good but can't quit shitting on the rug."

"Please, Matt. That's…"

"I know… vulgar, crass, whatever. You get what I mean."

"What… what can I do to change your mind?"

"Get the hell out of here and secure that shipyard and _bring back some goddamn ships_. If the Umojans get to fighting each other, we may _need_ them."

"Okay," Valerian said, feeling suspiciously like he was being sent away to his room like a recalcitrant teenager. "I'll do exactly what you ask. No maneuvering. No posturing. Just… complete the mission."

"That's good to hear. I'm going to… do something here. The captain of the _Steadfast_ … Calvino? He seems like he has his head on straight. I'm going to talk to him and maybe sort this out. Mira will be here soon. And I'd prefer _not_ to get the protoss involved..."

"If you need any help…"

"I'm not going to call you."

"Oh. Matt?"

"Just… go."

"I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Okay, okay… just go."

Valerian and Horner stared at each other over the comm, Valerian finally hanging up.

"Adjutant, resume FTL jump."

"Resuming," the adjutant said.

The Oppenheimer arrived at the Dalarian Shipyards, Valerian's fleet keeping just out of their scanning distance.

"Adjutant, begin silent running mode, please."

The lights on the bridge dimmed, as did the grid on the war table. The constant hum of the engines stopped, as did the rushing white noise of the fans that circulated the recycled air aboard the ship. As he watched, Nova and her covert ops crew slowly fanned out towards the shipyards. All their ships had cloaking technology, but the Moebius fleet did not and so they had to keep their distance. Valerian had researched cloaking for battlecruisers decades ago, but at the time it was not feasible. The power transfer was too costly and inefficient, so much so that they couldn't fire or maneuver while cloaked. Silent running was more effective, and it didn't leave them sitting ducks. _But now… perhaps after this war I will look into it again. Whoever emerges victorious will want to immediately gain an advantage and keep their power…_ Valerian hated himself for the thought. But he was a survivor. His father had pressed upon him the tenets of being a Machiavellian leader. _Be the lion_ and _the fox_ , he thought. His father was good at being both. But he was not. He tended towards the lion, and that's what people believed he was. _But everyone knew my father. They knew he would do what was good for the Dominion, and that if they crossed him, they would face the consequences. Granted, he never actually knew what was "good" for the Dominion—just what was good for_ him. Valerian knew people tried to take advantage of him because of his youth—and his seeming naivete. They never saw the fox underneath— _And when they did_ , he thought, _it surprised them._ Now, without his position of authority, _I am always the fox. I must go to burrow and ally myself with whoever is strongest—and become the lion again. For now… I wait—and watch_. He hoped Horner would be the victor.

Nova would not be in position for a few minutes. He sat down in the large, ornate Louis XIV-style chair and poured himself a cup of tea from the bone china teaset that sat on the small, matching dainty table beside him. From his chair on the bridge, he looked out of the large viewport onto the stars. As long as he had lived, he never tired of looking out onto the galaxy.

 _There are so many stars… so many planets_ … He lamented that the human race fought over only a tiny fraction of them.

"CEO Valerian, Directorate ships approaching," the Oppenheimer's adjutant announced. Valerian sat bolt upright and forward in his chair. Calmly, he placed his teacup and saucer back on the table.

"On what vector? The shipyards or our position?"

"Directorate ships approaching Dalarian Shipyards from…" the Adjutant rattled off a string of coordinates that were meaningless to him. He got up swiftly and darted back to the war table in time to see the darkness of the grid light up with dozens of enemy battlecruisers.

 _But no carriers… at least there's that…_

Valerian couldn't contact Nova without giving away both of their positions. _I hope she knows they're there_.

He was alone, and for now they didn't see him or his fleet. There were quite a few of them, and there were Terran Republic ships sitting in drydock that could be used either for or against them. Valerian paced around the war table, looking at the potential battlefield before him. Around him was silence, the soft purr of the bridge's electronics the only sound. He picked a datapad up off the war table. He bobbled it slightly, and the contact clicked loudly against its neosteel frame. With a few taps, Valerian began altering their plan of attack based on the increased number of ships protecting the shipyard. It was up to him—and Nova, working independently—to change their plans and with their limited resources, and regain control of the shipyards.

* * *

Stukov flinched when he heard the comm flip on in his ear. He wasn't used to an in-ear comm, and it was too loud for his now more sensitive hearing.

"We're in position," Vermaak said, his voice short.

"Good. I will begin then."

Stukov had once again found higher ground from which to survey the area—a high cliff overlooking the hatchery they had conquered and Grellna's main hive complex towering in the distance. He leapt off of it, slowing his descent with his telekinesis. As he touched down, all the forces he had hidden burrowed in the ground beneath him erupted from the surface with their fearsome, blood-hungry cries. A wave of twisted flesh and bone armored with more of the same with weapons of claw, tooth, and acid surged forward at his command both around him on the ground and in the sky. This was his grand siege, and with Vermaak's help, Grellna would fall.

His air forces swarmed in the sky, circling in a vortex, waiting for the ground troops to catch up before they launched their onslaught onto Grellna's hive. Inside the hive, Grellna had been alerted to their presence. Her units began to amass to repel his attack. Stukov unleashed his army. The two broods—Grellna's and Stukov's turned brood—met fiercely near the southern perimeter of her base at the slope of the plateau on which the hive complex stood. The zerg on the front line were churned to a froth of blood, ichor, poison and bone shards. It was a mutual massacre. His forces slowly made their way up.

"Now?" Vermaak said on the comm.

"Not yet."

Stukov reached out with his mind. _Where_ is _she?_ Finally, from the mouth of the hive, a bloated, reddened broodqueen waddled out into the light. She was no taller than Zagara, but she was monstrously distended by egg-laying and looked severely overbred.

"Grellna has emerged! Do it now!" Stukov bid his ground forces to retreat from the plateau. Grellna's forces held their ground—but then it fell away. The ground heaved and there were several loud explosions. Stukov watched as the plateau collapsed inward, taking the hive, the enemy zerg—and Grellna—with it. In the confusion, Stukov was able to commandeer more of Grellna's panic-stricken brood, leading them out of the rubble. He bounded into the crater, prepared to confront Grellna personally. Stukov would give her a choice if he didn't fail—for her to submit to them and live or refuse and die. Vermaak had executed his plan well. His shadow guards had discovered a series of tunnels underneath the plateau that Grellna had haphazardly used for mining. They had not been well planned and had undermined the structural integrity of the plateau. With a hard, remotely controlled, explosive nudge, the hive complex had been destroyed. _Zagara_ said _she was destroying the planet… Again, her observations were astute. Mining like this, over time, could seriously impact the stability of the planet's crust, making it uninhabitable._

A chitinous foot emerged from the rubble, scrambling to clear it away. Stukov descended on the spot, raising his infested arm, engorging it, and then bringing it down brutally on her trapped form. She squealed in agony and burst from the ground.

"Death to you, interloper! You will fall to the Swarm!"

"Hah! Your 'Swarm' is what sent me to annihilate you, Grellna! Do you not recognize me? I am Stukov, the Queen of Blade's former right hand. I have come here with a message from your queen and my compatriot, Zagara: concede or be destroyed!"

"Never! Zagara is too cowardly to raise a claw to me!"

"She has powerful friends, Grellna. An you're about to see just _how_ powerful…" Stukov let the psionic power of the zerg flow through him. He forgot about the mud and the holes in his shirt and the blood and the pain he was in—his humanity and his human motivations. All he cared about in this moment was ending this pathetic strain of broodqueen that was a hinderance to the zerg.

"You? An infested Terran? I will crack your skull and eat your rotted brain mass!"

She rushed him. Stukov raised his claw and grabbed her head, wrapping his immense fingers around it.

"Crush _my_ skull, eh?" He squeezed her massive, armored head. She shrieked again. "What an idea you've given me." Grellna bucked her head and spit acid at him. He growled in pain and pulled his thumb and small fingers together, crushing her mandibles. Grellna let out a muffled howl. "Yield to me, Grellna. I will spare you if you follow me into battle. Zagara has abandoned you, but I could use a brood queen to tend to my troops. I have a compatriot—a zerg compatriot—that can make you stronger… smarter…"

"Never! I would rather die than serve a human master!"

"So be it." Stukov closed his fist around Grellna's head, caving it with a gruesome series of snaps as her carapace failed. She struggled and clawed at him, but it was useless. Ichor and zerg brain matter oozed between his fingers. Immediately, what was left of her brood was staggered, stricken by the loss of their queen. He mentally connected to them as Grellna's body slumped to one side and began to decay, the poison and corrosive chemicals inside her eating her from within. As he looked at his hand, he realized dully the cruelty of what he had just done. The human part of his mind squirmed uncomfortably. His emotions came rushing back; he was mildly disgusted with himself, though what he had done had been effective. He brushed his hand on his shirt and was dismayed that the corrosive mix of her blood began to eat it away. Annoyed, he ripped it off from under his jacket and began trying to shake the rest of the disgusting liquid off.

Vermaak picked his way down into the crater in his CMC.

"I've seen some disgusting things, man. But that's in the top five."

"I'll admit I didn't think that through," he said, continuing to shake off the ichor.

As Vermaak and Stukov left the crater, Stukov ordered drones to begin clearing away the rubble and he induced the hive and its spires to heal. Vermaak went to regroup with his troops and rest. Soon, more flying zerg filled the sky, and what ground troops they had lost had been replaced. He didn't want to overwhelm the Umojans or harm them, but he wanted enough power to make Oyaleni rethink her decision and to go on and be an asset to their alliance.

"I'm ready to leave," Stukov said into his comm.

"Fine. But how're we getting back into orbit?"

"I have sent a few overlords to your position. Make sure your men are ready."

"What? Overlords? _That's your plan?_ "

"Do you have any other ideas?"

"Stukov," he said angrily, "There has to be another way."

Stukov maneuvered an overlord into position. Through it, he could see Vermaak's marines below, tiny, like small grey petals against the dark, wet earth. _The apparition of these faces in the crowd/ petals on a wet, black bough._ The thought of the Earth poem shook him it had come so unbidden. It was a poem about a metro station, and experience he had many times before—being one of many, going somewhere, in the warmth and security of other people—humans—around him doing the same. He had never thought of it as comforting before. _Some things you don't miss until you lose them_. He realized he would miss the _Uhuru_ if something happened to it. _Vermaak's people are about to see how I live—like the men and women who survived the wreck of the_ Vrede _. I don't think they'll like it much… at least they aren't alone._

"Stukov! Are you listening to m—"

Stukov decided to take Vermaak first, a tendril snaked down and grabbed him. He made a muted "Hup!" sound as if the wind had been pushed out of him.

"Goddamn it, Stukov!" Vermaak yelled, his voice pitching up an octave. Stukov took off his earpiece as Vermaak began to swear at him. It was hard enough for him when Vermaak spoke in a normal voice; his yelling pained him. He called for overlords for himself and for his army of zerg. A tendril stretched down for him. He let it wrap around him and pull him into the air. From here he would return to the _Aleksander_ , which he hoped had regenerated enough to be a threat again. Izsha, he hoped, had been seeing to its recuperation. He was now powerful enough to order it from the surface, he realized, but it could not have gotten into low enough orbit to take him up. Overlords were his only choice. Soon, they would all be airborne and on their way—not to assist the fleet against the UED, but to crush the mutiny that had embroiled the _Uhuru_ and ensnared Fleet Admiral Marín.

 _If they have laid a hand on her—or my son…_ He didn't finish the thought. But the Swarm hungered for human blood, and Stukov—angered as he was now—was not above letting them taste it.


	18. Chapter 18: The Blood

There is a bit about Valerian in here that is a retcon from the previous chapter. I have removed it from there and placed it in this document. I had originally planned it the way it is now, but I changed my mind at the last minute. I never liked it, so I reverted it to my original concept of a dark-future Valerian.

* * *

Alarak watched from the top floor of a new observatory as a building in downtown Escalero, one of the few still standing, imploded and shook to the ground, disappearing into a pile of metal and plumes of dust. It was a controlled implosion, one of many meant to level the last of the human city to make way for a new, protoss one; dark and sleek, it would be a monument to the ingenuity and power of the Tal'darim. Alarak shifted his weight as he stood, waiting for what he was standing there to see—his new project come to life. The Tal'darim had made great strides scientifically and as a culture, and this new world would be an extension of that. But there was a dark side of the Tal'darim, darker than the stain of human blood that the city would triumphantly rise from. The Tal'darim were still addicted to terrazine, and it was inexorably interweaved in their culture. At one time, Alarak believed that terrazine purified their thoughts and magnified their power. _Both are true, in a fashion…_ But the old anger returned when he thought of how Amon had used its addictive nature to bend his people to his will and instill in them a false sense of the numinous with his own godhood at the center. He knew better now. It was a resource like any other. _A tool—nothing more. There is no doctrine. No "dark god." No "right" way to use it. It is an important part of our culture and must remain so. In moderation. My moderation._ He chose this planet not only for its history but also its proximity to Jarban Minor, a terrazine-rich planet in Umojan space that was in striking distance.

Already the debris had been cleared. He watched as a swarm of black probes carried the rubble away. As they left, one stayed, a telltale spark of energy, visible even from his far away vantage point, leaving its array. This is what he was waiting for. The warp fissure the probe created extended upwards, further and further, taller than any of the surrounding buildings. Slowly, a translucent silhouette appeared, wavering in the sunlight. From where he watched, it stood between him and the sun. As it warped in, its dark form took shape, blocking the light and casting a shadow over the city. It was a spire, black as obsidian, with a crimson crystal at its center. Designed by Alarak himself, it was not just one spire but three, jagged and asymmetrical, separated at the bottom of the structure, but twisting together in a unified piece. To him, it signified himself, the Highlord, his ascendants, and the indominable spirit of the protoss, bound together, forged in the Tal'darim. There was no crystal at the top like other protoss buildings. Instead, it was in the middle. _The Tal'darim strive for nothing. We_ are _the pinnacle. We serve no god, no master_. And at the bottom, where the spires separated and formed a tripod, a vent of terrazine emitted its jade-green essence, igniting into purple flame as it reached the crystal above. _Terrazine will be tightly controlled now. Ritual and training use only. No "ascending to a higher plane" and that nonsense._ At the top of the structure, in the highest reaching spire (symbolic, of course, of himself), was a lavish personal apartment, from which he planned to rule.

 _And I_ will _rule. The humans will_ not _take this planet from me_. _I would destroy it rather than let that happen_. He thought of Stukov and hate boiled in him. Stukov had made a fool out of him, but even worse, Stukov was right. He knew the UED were what the humans in the Koprulu sector called fascists—a moniker so odious that even the Terran Dominion could not be called it even at the height of its tyranny. It was, for them, the worst kind of government the humans could produce. This was something that Alarak understood intellectually but could not fathom existing in reality. _A government is neither good nor bad. It is what it needs to be for the culture it supports. I rule the Tal'darim ruthlessly. That is what they expect and what the Tal'darim demand. The Nerazim and the Khalai… have different ideas of what it is to rule. I do not understand Earth and its government. Culling your own people indiscriminately… exiling people with advantageous mutations… not allowing them to evolve… that creates weakness. A weakness that can be exploited._ And because he understood their ideology, he knew that any treaty he signed with them would be worthless. If they did not believe him to be a person, Alarak reasoned, they would not see the agreement as valid. _But I will be ready for their deception._ He eyed his handiwork, the spire. It was exact to his specifications to the micron.

Alarak could sense Ji'nara's presence at the door before she spoke. She was light on her feet, but her thoughts were loud—and now often pointedly unguarded. Alarak turned to glower at her over her shoulder. She was looking beyond him at the spire.

"Hm, it's almost as tall as your ego, Highlord." Alarak's eyes narrowed into a scowl as she walked towards him and stood next to him. "I'm surprised you wanted your apartment at the top… I mean, after what happened with Stukov…"

Years ago, Alarak would have killed her for her impertinence. It would have meant she was plumbing his weaknesses, taunting him before dragging him off to kill him during Rak'shir. But with the mortal part of the ritual removed, her barbs were toothless. They were merely words passed between warriors that had worked together too long. Like an old, married couple that had long since lost the joy of being together and found pleasure now only in verbal jousting.

"Well done, Ji'nara. Did that jab just come to you, or did you spend all morning preparing it? I know you work so hard to make your witticisms appear as though they come from actual wit."

"As if you would know wit if you heard it," Ji'nara said quickly, momentarily forgetting herself, "… Highlord."

Alarak gave her a hard look, and he could feel Ji'nara sweating a little, her mind flitting with worry. He liked that he could still rattle her with a look, no matter what she said to him. He turned away, looking back outside.

"Speaking of a lack of wit… I assume you're here to escort me to the transmat for my meeting with the UED delegation?"

"Yes, Highlord."

Alarak sighed.

"Very well."

They exited the room together into the wide hallway beyond. Everything, despite the Tal'darim's penchant for dark colors, seemed new and polished—because it was. The building itself was only hours old. Its hallways were empty; Alarak had not assigned many workers here yet; he wanted solitude before his own living quarters had been built. He would inspect them later.

"Do you have reservations about our human allies?" Ji'nara said suddenly.

"Do you not, Ji'nara?" Alarak said, his voice full of scorn.

"Well, of course," Ji'nara said, stammering slightly, "they _are_ human. And their leader does not seem particularly… clever. Though with humans I daresay that's the norm…"

Alarak was silent for a few moments.

"We have met clever humans, Ji'nara. Not acknowledging that is foolish. But with Reeves… 'not clever' is an understatement."

Ji'nara took the criticism and his agreement in stride, saying nothing as they reached the transmat room. As he stood ready for transmat, he looked at her. Protoss only subtly aged, but he could see that she seemed older. The skin around her eyes had started to mottle and darken slightly in a way that signified maturity. Their relationship had been strained before the End War; it was hard to like someone whom you would eventually have to face in mortal combat. But after some initial missteps and the occasional episode of speaking out of turn, Ji'nara had shown herself to be an excellent warrior and competent second. And after Rak'shir had been modified, Ji'nara had begun to trust him. She was still maturing into her role—her slip with Stukov about Tyrador a symptom of this—but someday, he felt, she would make a good successor.

 _When that far off day should come_. _If I don't one day tire of her insolence and crush her crest beneath my heel._

Alarak nodded to Ji'nara. She turned from him and tapped her claw on a display on the wall.

" _Kuznetsov_ Tower, this is First Ascendent Ji'nara. Highlord Alarak is ready for transport."

"First Ascendent, this is Tower. Admiral Reeves is ready to receive you. I will send you the coordinates."

Ji'nara she plugged the coordinates into the console and verified that they corresponded with the _Kuznetsov._ She did not trust the Directorate not to give her coordinates for open space and Alarak had come to rely on her instinctive mistrust that was even greater than his own.

"Coordinates verified. Ready, Highlord?"

Alarak sighed heavily with annoyance and nodded.

"Initiating transport."

Ji'nara tapped again on the display. The room fell away, replaced by a conference room on the _Kuznetsov_. It was not one that he had been in before. He wondered if the one they had met in initially—the one with the large viewport window onto space—had been taken off in the minefield explosion. This one was almost identical but without the windows. Instead, it had a glass wall that overlooked a portion of the immense carrier's engine works. But this time Reeves was not alone. Beside him were three humans he had never met, standing on the other side of the table. Conspicuously, none of them were standing very close to him. _They are afraid of him—or they feel contempt for him as Stukov did_. Two women, one pale, thin, and showing human signs of advanced age, the other small, rounded, and dark, were on one side of Reeves. He felt curiosity from both of them, but only the small one showed it, her eyes wide and her mouth open slightly. Neither of them, he realized, had seen a protoss in the flesh. On the other side of Reeves was a man, smaller but stouter than Reeves, wearing what Alarak assumed was the UED's version of a ghost uniform. Unsurprisingly, he could not prod his mind. His expression was similarly inscrutable.

"Highlord Alarak, your punctuality is greatly appreciated."

"Punctuality? Is that all that you appreciate, Admiral Reeves?" Alarak asked, bemused at the odd statement, not hiding his malice and loathing.

"Of course not, you are a significant ally in this conflict" Reeves said, not exactly trying to placate Alarak, but not irritating him further either. The comment had clearly put Reeves off balance, and that had been the point. "Speaking of which, allow me to introduce… my advisors: Chief Engineer Aditi Ramachandran, my technical advisor; Master Sargeant Ye-Jun Shin—you go by Eugene, right?"

"Shin is fine," the other man muttered, his eyes briefly flitting upwards in a look of exasperation. Reeves continued, seeming not to notice or care.

"Shin advises me on all covert ops, and Vice Admiral Christine Curchack, my tactical advisor. They will be assisting me in planning the deployment of the fleet here in the Koprulu sector."

Alarak laughed derisively.

"Did you have to find three people to replace Stukov? Was he that exceptional among your people? If he was, I'm not impressed."

Reeves was rattled again by what Alarak said, this time more so. Until this point, Alarak had demurred to Reeves's demands but in an aloof, noncommittal way. In truth, Alarak realized, a lot of that had been due to Stukov's presence. If Reeves could hold Stukov, he thought Reeves a formidable man. But now he saw the reality: Stukov had been Reeves' beast of burden, independently devising and implementing his strategies. Reeves had no substance in and of himself. He was good at scaring people and at propaganda. Alarak's observations were underlined by the furtive look Curchack and Shin exchanged behind Reeves's back. The small one, Ramachandran, seemed unaware of either's misgivings, but her emotion towards Alarak changed from one of awe to one of fright.

"Alarak, I'm going to try to not take that personally given that allies would hopefully not want to purposefully insult one another." Despite what he said, Alarak watched his cheeks flush, a reaction he knew to either be born of rage or embarrassment.

"Oh, yes, _hopefully_ ," Alarak said, barely hiding the mirth in his voice. "But go on. Let me hear what you've go in store for Korhal."

Reeves stared him down, but shortly his anger abated. He motioned for Everyone to sit. Alarak perched uncomfortably in a human chair as the four humans across the table from him settled into theirs. Reeves tapped on the console embedded in the table and a small holoemitter seated in the middle of it came to life.

"Admiral Curchack, if you please."

The older woman stood, waving her hand near the holoemitter. A starchart, one he recognized but could not place, expanded quickly to fill the three-dimensional space.

"I think we can all agree that an invasion of Korhal would not exactly be a surprise—as Tyrador was not," the woman's voice was reedy and unpleasant, Alarak thought. _She is much past her prime. This faction of humanity… Despite their violence and aggression, they are weakened by their beliefs and indiscriminate warring._ He had a hard time seeing where Stukov had fit in with these people. But, he realized, if the zerg hadn't taken him, Stukov would be as old and feeble as the woman who now stood across from him. "We can also reasonably assume that Stukov has given them information about our troop movements. It is now imperative that we change the trajectory of our attack."

"And what is that trajectory, Admiral?" Alarak asked, bemused.

"First we use the technology that Chief Ramachandran has developed to feign fleet muster at the Dalarian Shipyards to make our enemies believe we are continuing our movement towards Korhal," she said, her voice gaining strength, "But instead," she continued, her eyes clearing and sharpening,

"we will advance on Umoja."

* * *

By the time Horner had messaged Valerian, Nova was already onboard and the _Oppenheimer_ was spinning up to FTL. Valerian hesitated but ignored his hail. He had plausible deniability as to never having received it. _FTL makes communication… unreliable._ And he needed time to consider his response. What he had set into motion—doubt—was coming to fruition. He was by birth Umojan, but his father had ruled the Terran Republic. What the Republic lacked in culture and technology, it made up for in territory, influence, infrastructure, and sheer size. The Umojan Protectorate was locked in, territory-wise, by its neighbors. It would never expand, and it would never be able to overcome either the Kel-Morian Combine or the Terran Republic—and it would never try. The Umojan Protectorate was not aggressive. _It has made itself politically insignificant. Its absorption by the Terran Republic or the Directorate is inevitable. My experiment in destabilizing their navy looks to have been successful. Hopefully, Oyaleni will oust Marín as Fleet Admiral and promote Mullenix. I've seen the man's file. He's mostly been in command of a desk; he will be easy to manipulate—not like Marín._ He had not expected to find someone as can-do as Marín in command of an Umojan fleet. Valerian felt a twinge of regret. His mother was Umojan and an independent woman as well. And he had liked Marín, even if she had been obviously repulsed by him. _But not by Stukov,_ he thought darkly, _and there's another reason she should not lead._ Valerian was still disappointed that Stukov was alive and that the mission to assassinate him had outed one of his attempts to manipulate the situation behind the scenes. _But only that one—and the help I had in pulling it off was never uncovered. But my primary goal was not to harm Marín—just to cause a rift. If the Umojans are left without strong leadership, the Directorate will have an easier time conquering their combined forces. And if the Terran Republic somehow deters the UED, they could easily topple the Umojans—Horner won't make a move, but I'm sure I can find someone who would._ Valerian frowned as he realized Stukov would be a random element in this. He could not predict how he would react to the Directorate assuming control or the Terran Republic overthrowing Umoja, especially if Valerian was involved. _His meddling could be costly_ —just as it had been when Stukov sided against him by backing Marín. _He must be removed from the equation before the war ends. But I will wait… The problem may solve itself._ Death, as in any war, was all around them.

The Oppenheimer arrived at the Dalarian Shipyards, Valerian's fleet keeping just out of their scanning distance.

"Adjutant, begin silent running mode, please."

The lights on the bridge dimmed, as did the grid on the war table. The constant hum of the engines stopped, as did the rushing white noise of the fans that circulated the recycled air aboard the ship. As he watched, Nova and her covert ops crew slowly fanned out towards the shipyards. All their ships had cloaking technology, but the Moebius fleet did not and so they had to keep their distance. _I researched cloaking for battlecruisers decades ago, but at the time it was not feasible. The power transfer was too costly and inefficient, so much so that they couldn't fire or maneuver while cloaked. Silent running was more effective, and it didn't leave them sitting ducks._ _But now… perhaps after this war I will look into it again. Whoever emerges victorious will want to immediately gain an advantage and keep their power…_ Valerian was a survivor. His father had pressed upon him the tenets of being a Machiavellian leader. _Be the lion_ and _the fox_ , he thought. His father was good at being both. But in the beginning he was not. He tended towards the lion as the ruler of the Terran Dominion, and that's what people believed he was. _But everyone knew my father. They knew he would do what was good for the Dominion, and that if they crossed him, they would face the consequences. Granted, he never actually knew what was "good" for the Dominion—just what was good for_ him. When Valerian ruled, people tried to take advantage of him because of his youth—and his seeming naivete. They never saw the fox underneath— _And when they did_ , he thought, _it surprised them._ Now, without his position of authority, _I am always the fox. I must go to burrow and ally myself with whoever is strongest—and become the lion again. For now… I wait—and watch_.

He knew Nova would not be in position for a few minutes. He sat down in the large, ornate Louis XIV-style chair and poured himself a cup of tea from the bone china teaset that sat on the small, matching dainty table beside him. From his chair on the bridge, he looked out of the large viewport onto the stars. As long as he had lived, he never tired of looking out onto the galaxy.

 _There are so many stars… so many planets_ … He lamented that the human race fought over only a tiny fraction of them.

"CEO Valerian, Directorate ships approaching," the Oppenheimer's adjutant announced. Valerian sat bolt upright and forward in his chair. Calmly, he placed his teacup and saucer back on the table.

"On what vector? The shipyards or our position?"

"Directorate ships approaching Dalarian Shipyards from…" the Adjutant rattled off a string of coordinates that were meaningless to him. He got up swiftly and darted back to the war table in time to see the darkness of the grid light up with hundreds of enemy battlecruisers.

 _But no carriers… at least there's that…_

Valerian couldn't contact Nova without giving away both of their positions. _I hope she knows they're there_.

He was alone, and for now they didn't see him or his fleet. There were quite a few of them, and there were Terran Republic ships sitting in drydock that could be used either for or against them. Valerian paced around the war table, looking at the potential battlefield before him. Surrounding him was near silence, the soft purr of the bridge's electronics the only sound. He picked a datapad up off the war table. He bobbled it slightly, and the contact clicked loudly against its neosteel frame. With a few taps, Valerian began altering their plan of attack based on the increased number of ships protecting the shipyard. But then he stopped. _Perhaps now is the time to make my move._ He looked at the fleet's positioning. One was clearly the flagship, positioned behind the other vessels and on a higher vector of approach.

"Adjutant, what is the registry of vessel three-four-eight?"

The adjutant ran a code cracker on it to decrypt its registry code.

"The _Alexander II_ "

 _Of course it is_.

"Adjutant, hail the _Alexander II_ "

* * *

Ahlberg's hands were shaking as he loaded his service pistol—his _real_ one, the one he kept in the armory for emergencies—with live ammo. He dropped two of the bullets. They clinked loudly on the metallic floor as they rolled away from him. Ahlberg didn't try to find them. It was dark in the aft armory, the only illumination the shaky light from Barre's plasma soldering iron a few feet away as he worked on a way to communicate ship-to-ship. There had been a parlay between him and Oyaleni over a delivered comm device supplied by the mutineers, but they had come to no agreement. Oyaleni wanted them to acknowledge both her and Mullenix's authority _and_ allow them to restore power so they could capture Marín and leave with her to prosecute her for treason. And they would not guarantee her safety. He would _not_ agree to those terms. And so the real conflict began. Oyaleni's troops had already killed eight of his men and seized control of the main computer core and the lift shafts to the upper decks, cutting them off from the bridge. Worse, they had not heard from Marín. Her datapad was still on and connected to his, but his messages were unread. Marín was likely still unconscious lying on the floor of her office. Getting control of the lifts and the bridge were their first priorities despite the increasingly dire life support situation. And It would only be a matter of time before they found a way to force their way into her office. They needed outside help, and they needed it now. Their allies in the fleet were helpless. Any movement from them would mean the retaliation of the other mutineer ships and would start an all-out firefight. _Even if we lose here_ , Ahlberg thought, _I'm not going to risk all their lives_.

He had assured his wife, not knowing what awaited him when they disembarked, that this was most likely a one-day war. After the war with the xel'naga and the peace afterwards, he thought he would be safe until he retired—routine patrol missions _ad nauseum._ He and his wife had a daughter. She was two years old. When he got his emergency orders, he downplayed their severity and had continued to do so, not having the heart to tell her how bad it actually was. _I'll have to tell her when—or if—the Directorate aims for Umoja, or sooner if…_ He hadn't told her of the inner strife that was happening within the _Core_ and _Edge_ fleets and didn't want to contemplate the worst that could happen now. Of all the ways that Ahlberg thought he would die, it was not on his own ship of oxygen deprivation, betrayed by his own navy. He couldn't even think about his daughter.

Ahlberg was interrupted by a loud electric pop and a string of curses from Barre. It was suddenly dark in the compartment. Ahlberg looked over to Barre as he began soldering again. Barre, who usually took nothing seriously, looked uncharacteristically grim. Stretched out before him on a dark computer console were the three shortwave radios he was trying to wire into a subspace antennae. His demeanor now was disconcerting for Ahlberg; he knew that Barre must have thought what he was doing was a longshot. But Barre continued to try. They knew they had allies, or they would have been blasted out of the sky. And Mullenix would not let down the jamming even to talk to them.

"How much longer do you think?"

"Will you stop asking me that, please?"

"I haven't been!"

"You asked twenty minutes ago. My answer is the same: I'm working on it."

Ahlberg sat back against the console and chuckled. He _was_ as surly as always. _That's a good sign, I guess._ Barre pulled a pair of goggles down over his face. He turned to Ahlberg.

"Don't look at the light. It will hurt your eyes."

Ahlberg looked away and Barre began soldering again.

"Do you think that's going to work?" Ahlberg said. Barre stopped, slapping his palm against the terminal as he turned to look at him.

"No, I'm just doing it as an art project."

"Well, _sorry_."

Barre sighed.

"Yes, I _think_ so… Maybe not. We'll see, I guess."

They sat in silence broken only by the noise of the soldering iron, Ahlberg with his gun in his lap, the light from Barre's soldering gun intermittently illuminating the room. Between Barre's bursts of activity, he could hear the officers outside conversing with each other lowly, clearly frightened, talking about people they knew on other ships, wondering if they were on the same side now. Ahlberg pondered this himself. He tried to remember what ships were from _Core Fleet_ and which were from _Edge Fleet_ that had accompanied them. He had a rough estimate, but didn't know for sure. They, at least, would be on their side. _I hope… and there are most likely some in_ Edge Fleet _that are not interested in following Mullenix or Oyaleni_.

As if reading his mind—they had served together a long time—Barre spoke up.

"Who do you think is on our side?"

"I'm sure everyone in _Core Fleet_."

"No one from _Edge Fleet_?

"I don't know. Maybe?"

"Well, right now, the whole of _Edge Fleet_ could suck my dick and balls and it would _still_ not make up for what they've done."

"Not even if it was Mullenix?" Ahlberg said. Barre had always had a thing for Mullenix, which Ahlberg had teased him mercilessly about. He was an older man with slate-grey hair and chiseled features. He had one of the old-style battlecruiser commander bionic interfaces in his right eye, making one of his eyes an unsettling glowing red, a stark contrast to his other eye which was a clear grey. He was almost completely white in his Umojan uniform, looking like some sort of space-born jack frost. _Barre has always been into weird_. Ahlberg wondered fleetingly what he thought of Stukov.

"Not even _that_ would make me happy now," Barre said of Mullenix.

He continued to solder and then stopped, taking off his goggles and examining his handiwork. Reaching around it, he picked up a small powercell and connected two leads to it. Inspecting it again and then seemingly satisfied, he threw the switch on the cell. The room was immediately filled with a loud hiss—the background noise of space.

"Does that mean it's working?" Ahlberg said, picking himself up heavily from the floor.

"Yes? Maybe?"

"Well, see what you can pick up…"

"What did you think I was going to do?" Barre said testily.

Pulling out a datapad he had partially deconstructed and wired directly into the radio, he began scanning up and down the subspace frequency spectrum. He heard a weird warbling sound on one frequency but kept going.

"What was that?"

"Pulsar. More background radiation."

"But the nearest pulsar is at _least_ thirty lightyears from here. The signal wouldn't be that strong."

Barre paused, thinking, then began cycling back to the "pulsar." As he listened to it, he analyzed the signal with his datapad.

"You're right. It has a data structure, but it's empty. It's like it's an encrypted signal with… nothing."

"Send something back," Ahlberg said, hurrying over to him, "see if it answers!"

"I'm going to just send back a blast. I don't want them to know it's us if it's someone from _Edge Fleet_." Barre sent the transmission. Neither of them breathed as they waited, hovering close over the hastily constructed pile of wires and coils.

"This is the _Aleksander_. Who is broadcasting?" said a familiar low, rumbling voice. It was Stukov. Both Ahlberg and Barre exclaimed inarticulately in surprise and relief.

"Call him back!" Ahlberg said quickly, "Call him back!"

"It must be a Directorate frequency," Barre reasoned as he hurriedly dialed the frequency into his jury-rigged datapad. "They use very elaborate encryptions and frequencies outside the normal band—frequencies that use too much power or are not programmed for a standard radio setup."

"Well, thankfully we don't have a 'standard radio setup.'"

"Admiral Stukov, this is Lt. Barre and Commander Ahlberg of the _Uhuru_. We're pleasantly surprised to hear from you. Was your mission a success? Does the fleet know where you are?"

"We have subdued Grellna and her brood. But I'm sure Oyaleni believes us dead since she abandoned us… What is going on up there?"

"Oyaleni has begun a mutiny. We've been overrun and we have no power…"

"Is my son safe? Let me speak to Admiral Marín."

"That's… part of the problem. Oyaleni has taken her hostage…"

"What?" Stukov said slowly, as if it were so unfathomable that it took time for him to believe it. In the background, he could hear Vermaak's low voice letting out a slow, steady stream of angry-sounding words that were unintelligible. "Hostage? How?

"Oyaleni feigned meeting with her and pulled a stun pistol… She's trapped in her office…" They both heard a loud bang from the other side of the comm. It sounded to Ahlberg like Stukov had slammed his fist down on his war table. He could hear Vermaak speaking angrily again in the background. "And as for your son, I haven't heard anything. No one has been in the cell blocks. They're probably locked in. I'm sure if Oyaleni's forces had captured him, they would have tried to make a bargain by now."

"What is your status?"

Ahlberg bluntly stated their situation—that they were pinned down, that they hadn't heard from Marín, and that they were running out of oxygen. Stukov listened patiently. Ahlberg could hear Vermaak in the background, commenting on what he was saying to Stukov.

"That… complicates things. We were preparing an ambush…"

"If you ambushed the fleet now, Oyaleni would use her capture of Marín against us," Ahlberg said.

"Oyaleni's violence is… disturbing. Do you think she would kill Marín if it came down to it? To end the conflict and force her candidate… What was his name?"

"Mullenix."

"Yes, Mullenix, into power?"

"I don't know… They're using live ammunition on us now, so anything's possible."

There were a few moments where he could hear Vermaak and Stukov discussing something.

"We will bring forces aboard to help you. But we will need a distraction—and someone to open the hangar…"

"Oyaleni's troops are occupying the starboard hangar. But there have been reports that the port one is open…"

"Open? Why?"

"We don't know."

Stukov and Vermaak conferred quietly again, but Vermaak reacted with hostility to something that Stukov had said and it became an argument. Suddenly, the argument stopped.

"We'll come aboard the port hangar in thirty minutes time. You have that long to think of a distraction. Vermaak will come to assist you, and I will try to get to the bridge. Vermaak does not have confidence in my success, but someone has to try."

"Godspeed, both of you. We'll think of something."

Stukov cut the comm.

"We _will_ think of something, right?" Ahlberg said uncertainly. Barre avoided his gaze.

* * *

Horner took a deep breath as he watched several chevrons appear on the grid above the _Hyperion's_ war table. He had been watching the standoff between the _Liberté_ and _Edge Fleet_ against Calvino and _Core Fleet_.

 _There's Mira…_ Immediately, the adjutant announced that Mira Han was hailing him. He sighed and answered.

''Matthew, _Liebchen_ , so good to see you. But so sad that you've moved on so quickly. Who's that floozie that you were with when I called?"

Horner's head throbbed when he heard Mira Han's voice and saw her bemused face appear over the war table. _I always forget what dealing with her is like…_

"One, we never _had_ a relationship for me to move on from. Two, it's been five years. And three, don't talk about Nova like that."

"Nova? What kind of name is that?" she said chidingly. "Is she some exotic dancer? Didn't think you were the type."

Horner rubbed his temples.

"Mira, can we _please_ get down to business?"

"Always business, business…" Han said with a mock sigh. "I thought you called me to kick around the UED on Tarsonis? Now I'm here and your people fighting each other. What's going on? Tell me."

" _My_ people aren't fighting anyone. Our allies are. Which makes you a welcome sight for once, Mira."

"Aw, Matthew. That was _almost_ a compliment. Thank you. So, who are we blowing up?"

"Hopefully no one. But your assessment of our options in reining them in would be appreciated."

Horner watched as she reached behind her to call up her own holographic interface. As she studied the ships squaring off against each other, she paused at the _Beynac_ automated defense platform, delineated by a large blue dot. She plucked at it with her hand and a detailed schematic filled the display, rotating peacefully in front of her. Horner wondered what she was thinking, but there was no way to know. She was wildly unpredictable, and it was one of her strengths. She turned to him with a sly smirk.

"Mm, that's quite some firepower you're sitting on, Matthew. State-of-the-art Umojan technology. Self-contained, automated, most likely armed with railgun arrays and ion cannons…" she zoomed in on the display, "…and antimatter torpedoes? Drone interceptors? The Umojans must like it _rough_."

"Mira…"

But she was also easily distracted and prone to making glib or inappropriate statements about her work or clients. _That's definitely_ not _a strength._

"Oh, don't scold me, Matthew. I'm getting to the business!" She backed out of the schematic and poured over the map again. "Fighting each other before an attack… How idiotic. Who started this mess? I can't tell who is naughty and who is nice. Can you send me a naughty list?"

Horner hesitated. It would be a breach in security and a violation of trust between the two powers to send any information on the Umojan fleet. _But right now I'd say all trust is out the airlock…_

"Adjutant, send the registration numbers and crew manifests of all present _Edge Fleet_ vessels to Mira Han."

"Warning: classified information transmission to unverified recipient. Proceed with transmission?" Horner hesitated again.

"Yes."

"Handprint verification required."

A broad smile crossed Han's face.

"Look at Admiral Bossy-pants-good-boy-President breaking the rules."

Horner frowned at her as he put his bare hand on the war table to record his handprint. _I hope I don't regret this_ , he thought. Though he'd known her for some time and knew her to keep her word, she also had a way of being literal or fanciful in her interpretation of a deal when it suited her. _This wouldn't be the first time I've been bitten in the ass by something unexpected this week._

"There's your naughty list. Now, what do you think?"

Han's smile waned.

"Umojans on both sides? What are they fighting over?"

"Who should lead the combined fleet. There's a clear answer, but the _Edge Fleet_ —the 'naughty ones'—refuse to see it."

"Well, then it sounds like they need a good spanking…" She said to him, feigning a conspiratorial tone.

"Mira…"

"I get it, I get it. You don't want me to blow them out of the sky. I will just scare them a little," she said, rolling her eyes and waving dismissively.

"How, Mira?"

"You know how much I like an automated defense system…"

"The _Beynac_? I'm not giving you access."

"Matthew, Matthew… You underestimate me. You don't have to _give_ me anything. When a girl knows what she wants, she takes it. You know that."

Now it was Horner's turn to roll his eyes.

 _I shouldn't have gotten up this morning._

* * *

The _Aleksander_ hugged close to the planet, wading through its turbulent upper atmosphere. From it, Stukov's lone shuttle wound its way up and towards the _Uhuru_. Onboard, Stukov charted an arcing course, making sure to keep in the _Uhuru's_ shadow. In the navigator's chair, Vermaak sat uncomfortably, barely able to stay in his seat due to his CMC. In the hold were eight marines—men that Vermaak trusted and were all from the _Uhuru_ —to help break the mutineers' chokehold there.

"Once we get onboard," Vermaak said. "We're going straight for the armory. We need to get those men out."

"I still think we should work on getting power restored. It won't be long before the crew suffocates…"

"We don't have anyone to fix it, and I'm not sure we could find anyone quick," Vermaak said quietly. "Besides, if the power came on, the lifts would start working, and they'd be able to get at Marín."

Stukov sighed.

"This is… I don't think it could be fucking worse."

"You're telling me. I don't know how this has happened. Everyone seemed to get along just fine before the fleets merged. Dunno what it was."

"Valerian. That's what it was."

Vermaak went silent for a moment. He sighed.

"Yeah, I see that now."

Stukov thought his reaction was odd. _Surely he realized the man was a snake._ But as much as Marin had instinctively mistrusted him—and so seemingly had Oyaleni—he was charismatic and persuasive. _Perhaps they have found common ground._ Stukov frowned as he realized it may have been a distrust of him. As they approached, the starboard hangar opened, and a squad of liberators tumbled out, propelled by their engines but also explosive decompression. A few helpless marines in CMCs cartwheeled out as well.

"They must have made a push for the starboard hangar. Not to run them off, but to get some ships out."

"Let's hope that's enough of a distraction."

Stukov piloted the shuttle into the port hangar as ships launched from the _Core Fleet_ ships. _They are outmatched, but if they can keep them busy for a few minutes_ …

The shuttle set down.

"My men and I are going straight to Barre and Ahlberg. Once we get them mobile and free up some of the crew, we're going to advance to the computer core."

"So you told me. Very direct. No surprises."

"I don't like surprises. So, you should probably tell me—now—how you're gonna get to the bridge."

Stukov didn't answer. In truth, he didn't know. He just knew he would get there if he had to kill every _Edge_ _Fleet_ soldier he met on his way.

"Look Stukov, I don't know what you're thinking, but killing a bunch of Umojans with your… infestation… or your bare hands… Is _not_ going to make you any more popular."

"I promised I would not bring infestation here," Stukov said, annoyed, "and I intend to keep that promise. Beyond that, how I fight is my business."

"Hmph. Have it your way then. But I'm not hauling your carcass out of the fire when you get overrun. These men are going to be tougher than a bunch of zerglings," Vermaak said, referring to Stukov's recent debacle on the planet's surface, "and more lethal than an ultralisk in this tight of quarters. You better think up a plan if you don't got one." Stukov frowned, knowing he was right, but was at a loss. Vermaak snapped his visor down, and Stukov opened the shuttle's door from his panel. The door opened with a dull hiss and then a rush of noise as the air in the cabin bled out into space in the unpressurized bay. Stukov watched as the marines trundled noiselessly out into the vacuum.

Vermaak said something to him that he couldn't hear. He gestured angrily at Stukov, pointing to where his ear would be outside his CMC, signaling that he needed a comm. Stukov gestured back with his mouth open, indicating air coming out.

 _It doesn't matter if I have a comm, Vermaak. If there's no air, I can't speak into it._

 _What the_ fuck _did I tell you about speaking to me like this?_

Vermaak stomped silently over to the cabinets in Stukov's shuttle, opening each one. He pulled out an environmental suit, but it was molded and ripped. He threw it down.

 _A good idea, but you're not going to find anything undamaged in here_.

Vermaak trudged out of the shuttle, smacking the side of the door angrily as he walked out. Stukov sighed, letting the air that remained in his lungs out, and followed him. By the time he was out, Vermaak was throwing an environmental suit at him.

 _How do you expect me to wear this?_

 _Just fucking put it on, Stukov._

Stukov tore off his jacket, much to the disgust of Vermaak, and threw it and his hat into his shuttle and then struggled into the suit. When he tried to fit his arm inside, it ripped, but the suit tried to seal itself, oozing a thick sealant all over his shoulder. Surprisingly, it did keep the seal when he put on his helmet.

"Interesting," Stukov said over the comm. "I've never seen a system like this."

"There's a reason why Umoja's called the most technologically advanced in the sector," Vermaak said with pride. As he checked his suit and looked down at his feet, a thought occurred to him. It was both terrible and brilliant and made the hair on his neck stand up and his arm twinge with pain.

"Directorate suits have magnetic boots. Do these?"

"Yeah, kinda useless unless you're spacewalking and doing repairs."

Stukov looked towards the open docking bay door. He fumbled around with the suit's interface on his chest and activated the magnetic boots.

"What are you doing, Stukov?"

Stukov began walking towards the bay door, his heels sticking to the floor as he walked.

"Going for a walk."

"Walk? What do you…"

Stukov reached the edge of the bay and looked over the side. Below was the planet's atmosphere, swirling angrily. His head snapped up as a liberator zoomed by, chased by another one from _Edge Fleet_. Hesitantly, he stuck his claw out into space and grabbed a metal maintenance handhold just beyond the side of the door. He steeled himself and jumped, curling his legs up and swinging out towards the hull. He connected solidly but noiselessly with the hull's metallic plates as his magnetic boot took hold. He could hear Vermaak gasp over the comm.

" _This_ is your plan?"

"I can walk unimpeded to the bridge from here."

"You're _insane_. What if you get knocked off and float into space?"

"Then you'll have one less problem to worry about," Stukov said, annoyed. He pulled himself up, orienting himself on the side of the ship and standing slowly from a crouch. Now that he was in zero gee, he would have to be careful. The slightest movement could launch him into space and hurtle him to his doom. He looked to the planet below. If he was caught in the planet's gravity well, he would suffer a painful, fiery death. If he didn't, he would drift in space for the rest of his probably long life. Even if he contacted his zerg to retrieve him, being able to find his small form in the largeness of space would be a difficult feat, and he could go into torpor and freeze before they found him. _Burning up in the atmosphere is the kinder fate_. _But let's try to avoid both, eh?_

"Stukov, you…"

He could read his mind still and could see all the things that he wanted to call him. Stukov chuckled softly. Vermaak was overreacting, he thought. _This is by far_ not _the stupidest thing I have done_. Stukov put one foot in front of the other, gauging the strength of the magnetic pull of his boots. He found it surprisingly weak. _How long has it been since I have trained in zero gee_? He thought. _I was a young man. Forty years? My god._ He realized that maybe this wasn't as good of an idea as he thought it was. Taking large strides, he made his way to the top of the battlecruiser, where he could walk along the ship's dorsal spine and make his way to the bridge. It was an achingly slow process, but he was gaining momentum as the hull started to slope towards the top of the ship. _But if I gain too much…_

"If you fuck this up, Stukov, who's going to deal with Oyaleni? Who is going to get Marín out?"

He hesitated. It was a fair point, but he was sure that he could make it. And if he did fuck it up, he would find a way to get to the bridge and Marín. He would think of something.

"Talk to Izsha then. She will help you."

"Dammit, Stukov…"

Stukov crested the top of the ship—and his momentum was too great. He let out a strangled cry as he angled his feet down, trying to scrape the side of the ship. But he was already too far away and arcing further with each passing second. In desperation, Stukov reached out with his infested arm, poising it to burrow into the side of the ship. But he stopped realizing that would just push him further into space. He turned and used it away from him, slamming back onto the deck on his back. About to bounce away, the claws on his back struck out and pinned him down reflexively. Using the arm and his claws was painful and destructive to both him and his suit. It started hissing—he had overwhelmed the leak-plugging system of his environmental suit. He planted his feet and slowly and carefully stood.

"Can you hear me? What is your status, Stukov?" Vermaak yelled in his ear. Stukov realized that his comm had been on when he had lost his footing and cried out. Vermaak had most likely been yelling at him for several minutes but Stukov had tuned him out.

"Everything's fine… Uh, a miscalculation…"

"Stukov, _this_ is what I was talking about. Your harebrained idea is _going to get you killed_."

"Worry about your mission, General," Stukov snapped, "And I'll worry about mine."

But Stukov was not fine. His feet to his thighs and the palm of his right hand was all pins and needles—a sensation that he had not felt in some time—and his left arm had fluctuated again slightly. He could hear the hiss in his suit grow louder, meaning the seal on it was deteriorating quickly due to his arm's expansion and contraction. _Fear of death. Self-preservation. Something both my human and zerg instincts can agree on_.

What he could see from the top of the ship did not abate his fears. The ship seemed small against the bright planet below and the hull of the ship was alternately bathed with light and dark as the liberators—Ahlberg and Barre's distraction—battled silently overhead. It was a spectacle he had never witnessed this close. Their canons glowed in the darkness and he could see them in their entirety. It was a feeling of terrifying sublimity realizing the danger he was in but also that few people had most likely attempted what he was trying to do. A liberator came within a few meters of the ship and Stukov ducked out of reflex, causing him to lose his footing again. He bobbled for a few moments, doing a forward somersault but was able to right himself again. This time he had been able to keep quiet and not alert Vermaak. He chided himself for getting distracted. Then he realized that the _Uhuru_ had taken some slight damage. Air hissed out from a compartment that had been breached, but soon stopped. It was a forward bulkhead, and so most likely had a backup automated pressure-loss system. _But they need to be more careful. Without power, a large impact could cause the ship to break up. With no shields of forcefields…_ He needed to focus on his task and move quickly.

Stukov looked towards the bridge. It was at least two stadiums' length away. He would have to keep moving and step up the pace, but not without some risk. His arm would not be ready to save him for some time while it healed. He carefully, one step at a time, moved down the immense body of the ship towards the bridge's perch. But he didn't quite know what he would do when he got there. There were windows on every side of it and passing near them would alert those inside. He would have to give it a wide berth, but also he had no idea how to access the bridge from the outside. He would have to consult Vermaak.

"Vermaak, come in."

"Yeah?"

"You know this ship well, yes?"

"I've been on it a good chunk of time, yeah," Vermaak said, sarcasm tinging his voice.

"When I get to the bridge, I'm going to have to break in. Any idea how to do that without venting the bridge to space?"

Stukov could hear Vermaak sigh over the comm.

"No, no I don't. Goddamn it, Stukov. This is why you gotta tell me what the fuck you're doing before you do it."

"You wouldn't have _let_ me do it if you had known."

"I'll ask around. Ahlberg or Barre probably has an idea."

"Well, hurry. I'm well underway."

Vermaak grunted at him and cut the comm.

The fighting from Ahlberg and Barre's "distraction" loomed near again. A liberator from the _Uhuru_ again came close to the ship, banking away at the last second, but the liberator from _Edge Fleet_ that was in pursuit managed to strafe and clip is as it turned, sending it aft over prow towards the _Uhuru_.

 _If it hits..._ Stukov thought, crouching down. There were no handholds near him. Silently, the liberator turned in space towards the ship, meters away from the hull and from him. _It_ is _going to hit. It will strike the deck and the reverberation and depressurization..._ The weak magnetism of his boots would not be able to save him, and he was not even sure his arm would have enough momentum to shove him back towards the ship—even if it was ready. But the wild turn of the ship saved him. It rotated just enough as it neared to miss the deck entirely. Stukov cried out in a mixture of panic and released fear as he watched the ship spin slowly towards the planet. _A near miss for me, but the pilot_... He watched as the liberator faded from view, dwarfed by the planet's atmosphere. There was probably some sort of emergency protocol the pilot could initiate, he knew, but his or her chances were slim.

The comm buzzed back on again. Before Stukov could answer it, Vermaak spoke to him, agitation in his voice.

"Marín's awake and talking. But she wants to speak to you…"

"Put her on!" He said, a little too enthusiastically. Stukov stumbled slightly but recovered. He grinned as he heard Vermaak's annoyed sigh just before the click of the comm switching over.

"Stukov, what the _hell_ do you think you are doing?" Marín said, her tone hushed but obviously incredulous. Stukov chuckled to himself.

"I'm out enjoying the night air, Admiral. It's beautiful. Your friends are putting on quite a light show."

"You are _insane_. Risking your life to free me is _not_ worth it. Without me, the fleet will survive. Without _you_ , the fleet has no zerg armada."

"That may be true, but I may do what I wish with my life or lack of it. And you forget that my son is on your ship, and without your presence, I have no guarantee that Oyaleni will not use him to blackmail me as Reeves did."

Marín sighed.

"I… hadn't thought of that. With the way Oyaleni is acting…"

"What is your status?"

"Still in my office. Safe for now, but not much longer?"

"Why?"

"They have an engineer up here… He has a plasma torch. It'll take some time, but he's about to try to burn though the door."

"Then I need to get moving. When I get there, how do I get in without venting the compartment?"

"Well, there's an access port they use for maintenance… to clean the bridge viewports or replace signal lights… it has a manual airlock, so when you open the door…"

"It will vent the lock but not the deck. Atmosphere loss will be minimal. How much air does the _Uhuru_ have?"

"Three hours."

"That's cutting it close."

"They're already passing out breathers down there. Ahlberg's working on getting into engineering to restore power. But we're all hoping that once you get up here…"

"That I will overpower Oyaleni and the conflict will end."

"Yeah," static from the comm buzzed quietly in the silence. Stukov became aware again of the hissing sound of his suit venting air. "When you get here…" There was a tension in her voice, like she was picking her words carefully. "I know you are angry at them… and that they have committed treason and put your son in danger… but…" She was right. He _was_ angry, but that was only part of it. "Give them a chance to surrender. And even if they _don't_ , don't kill them…" Stukov didn't answer. It would be harder to go in and ambush them if he had to use non-lethal force. "Stukov?"

"I don't understand why…"

"Promise me, Stukov."

He sighed. "You have my word I will do whatever I have to do to mitigate harm to them—but I am getting you out of there."

"That's all I ask. I have to go. Oyaleni is getting suspicious of me hiding behind the desk for so long."

"I understand. I will be with you soon. I will contact you telepathically when I am about to start my assault. I may need a distraction…"

"Okay, I'll keep an ear out…"

The comm cut off and Stukov was alone again. He reached the base of the rise on which the bridge rested and was relieved to find handholds on this part of the ship. Able to reach far above him with his infested arm, he was able to hook each handhold with his claw and haul himself forward. As he made his way—safer than he had been before—he took stock of what had led him here. He searched his mind for another solution. He could have ambushed the fleet, but Marín may have been killed—or the _Uhuru_ , in it's weakened state, destroyed. It shouldn't have mattered to him, but he thought his son was onboard, and he, along with Marín, would have perished. Stukov reevaluated his motivations. Did it really matter if Marín lived as long as his son was safe? She had risked her position to help him. But was his judgement now clouded by his humanity? The Swarm understood the motivation for him to save his son. _The zerg are preoccupied with "sequences"—bloodlines, mutations, heredity. They want my son to live._ But he wondered why it let his anger flow freely when he thought about defending Marín from Oyaleni and her followers. He thought it could perhaps be the increased bloodlust due to the situation with his son or the recognition of her as an ally that aligned his humanity with the Swarm. And he left it at that. She _was_ a beneficial ally. _If I do not keep her safe and allow another Umojan to come to power, I will be at a clear disadvantage_ — _and this will balance our ledger._ And, though he couldn't admit it to himself, he wanted her gratitude.

 _But whatever happens, I can't blame my motives on her deeds anymore. Someone will notice I am loyal to Marín beyond what is called for_. But he saw several ways he could rationalize it. It was, after all, not out of character for him to serve a larger ego—DuGalle and then Kerrigan. He was comfortable in the position of second as a man. Doing the work, making the day-to-day decisions, being the trusted advisor—letting someone else take the credit with the penalty of being the "face" and the charismatic leader. He took on more danger, but he could choose whom he answered to and did not have to explain himself when situations went awry. It's one of the reasons he fell into weapons research. He was buried in levels of "need to know" and security. And he could go home at night. Until, at least, Gerard had landed the leading position on the _Expeditionary Fleet_ and had dragged him away from Earth—and his family. _And what did leadership and promotion get me? Death. And then isolation._ But whatever the outcome, he reminded himself, his son was here and as long as he lived there was some hope he could make a new life for himself. _And even if he didn't_ … Death, he knew, could be undone. Abathur would readily remake his son if he asked. In fact, Abathur would most likely relish the chance. _My son is a "degenerate." Abathur would make him into something powerful—he would have power even greater than mine. And Marín…_ He pushed the thought aside. It would not be something she would want and it made him uncomfortable that he thought about it for her. His son was his son, and he could be selfish. But if it came to it, the option was there. _If the Swarm wanted me for my knowledge, they would want Marín for the same. At least, that's how I'll pitch it to Abathur… if it ever becomes necessary…_ But he knew they would not be the same; _he_ had not been the same. And they would never forgive him for it.

* * *

Horner watched nervously as the _Beynac_ turned in space, re-aligning its weapons array towards the _Edge_ and _Core_ fleets. _There is something ass-clenching about asking Mira to do this… One slip or insult—perceived or otherwise—from the Umojans, and she won't think_ twice _about vaporizing them, agreement or not._ He groaned inwardly as his adjutant warned that the _Beynac_ was powering up. The Umojan ships had gotten the same warning and scattered quickly to get out of range.

"Incoming transmission from the _Liberté_. Vice Admiral Mullenix requests to speak with you."

" _Finally_. Patch him through."

"Admiral Horner! Theft and misuse of the property of the Umojan Navy violates our treaty and firing upon Umojan vessels is an act of—."

"Admiral Mullenix…"

It was the first time that Horner had seen Mullenix in the flesh, and his appearance startled him. He was what you would expect from an Umojan—heavily biohacked and with a cold demeanor. Horner also recognized the hardware of an old-style battlecruiser captain. _He_ has _been in the service a long time._ "…I have _no_ idea what you're talking about."

"Are you telling me that you are pretending you have _not_ taken control of the _Beynac_? Those ships around it…" light flashed across the bridge and a panel behind him blew, throwing sparks into the air and causing the feed to fry for a moment. In the background, someone was yelling frantically. Mullenix kept his composure, glancing backward for only a moment.

"…Are not Terran Republic. And I have _no_ control over them, believe me," Horner said, suppressing a chuckle. "But if you'd like for me to put in a good word for you to their commander, Mira Han…"

" _Mira Han_? You hired a _mercenary_ to try to keep me from becoming fleet admiral?"

"No, I called Mira to help retake Tarsonis. When she got here and saw you dicking around and squandering our resources fighting each other, I can't say she was pleased. Can't say I was either."

"This is outrageous!"

"Stand down, Admiral. If you do, Mira Han will see reason… hopefully."

Mullenix's clenched his teeth as his inchoate fury built. He cut the comm on Horner. A map of the immediate area appeared above the war table in place of Mullenix's face. _He's running. They're going to regroup with the other_ Edge Fleet _ships and surprise the_ Uhuru… Horner had not wanted to bring anyone but Han into this conflict because she was a random element. Like Stukov, no one would assume her movements were the work of a specific government. But this was an emergency. _If someone needs to act_ , he thought, _it should be the protoss. They won't try to sanction them after the fact. It's hard to sanction a power that is more advanced than yours. It's already an unequal alignment._ Horner felt old suddenly. His through processes after governing for five years had certainly changed.

"Adjutant, call the _Spear of Adun_."

Artanis's inscrutable mouthless and noseless face appeared above the war table.

"Admiral Horner, I see that there has been a development in the conflict between the two Umojan fleets… Do you require assistance?"

"Yes, Artanis. Stop those _Edge Fleet_ ships from leaving."

"Of course, Admiral."

Within seconds, a wing of arbiters departed from the _Spear of Adun_ towards the fleeing _Edge Fleet_ ships. Horner switched his view to the _Hyperion's_ forward camera array. From it, he watched as the _Beynac_ continued to sporadically fire at _Edge Fleet_ ships but was definitely pulling its punches. _Mira got the message, thank god for that._ The arbiters swiftly reached the departing battlecruisers and glass-like cages of light spread out from them, enveloping the _Edge Fleet_ ships. The arbitors had caught them in their stasis fields. Calvino and _Core Fleet_ surrounded the captured vessels. Horner sighed and rubbed his face, relieved. _It's over,_ he thought. _Now, if only we can get in contact with Fleet Admiral Marín…_

* * *

Stukov climbed the last few meters to the access port. He hugged the hull, stooping to keep himself below the viewport windows. Suppressing the urge to look inside, he reached for their minds. Oyaleni and Marín he recognized, but there were three others—the two marines and the engineer. Marín was furthest away; he could tell by the interference he felt from the machinery and the other minds in the room. Oyaleni and one of the men were standing together between him and Marín. The others were standing equidistant but in another direction. _Marín in her office, Oyaleni and one of the marines outside. The other two… posted at the lift?_ He didn't know exactly, but their posture made sense—and that was most likely how he would have to access the bridge. The access port would put him on a deck, but he would have to scale the inside of the lift shaft to reach the bridge. He grabbed the hatch on the access port. It had a manual, crank operating mechanism. Bracing himself with his boots on the hull, he gave it a hard twist. It gave, and he turned it slowly. Once it unlocked, he gave it a sharp tug with his infested hand. Opening it took less force than he was expecting. The door swung suddenly out into space, flung open by the air behind it—and took him with it. He bellowed and swore as it threw him against the hull. But he considered himself lucky; if he hadn't been hanging on, it would have batted him out into space. He stayed there for a moment, clinging to the door. Stukov realized he was hyperventilating, white knuckling the opening mechanism. He immediately stopped, frowning, thinking that reaction very odd. Slowly he extricated himself from behind the door, using the magnetic boots to reorient himself. He carefully put one foot in the door and immediately felt the pull of gravity. Moving himself to a sitting position on the side of the lock, he slithered inside like slipping into a pool. His landing was less than graceful. Stukov landed on his knees inside the small airlock. _If I was not infested_ , he thought, _I surely would have injured myself—twisted my knee or my ankle_. _But if I wasn't infested, I would be floating in_ space _right now. Who cares about a knee?_ He pulled the door closed and re-bolted it then leaned heavily against the bulkhead. Now he had time to feel afraid. He marveled at his hands shaking. It was a novel emotion for him. But he had made it. The difficult part, he hoped, was over. He sighed and stood up again, ready to execute his plan.

Stukov opened the other hatch and a strong gust of air rushed past him. He stepped out into an alcove just beyond the airlock. On both sides of the alcove hung tools—wrenches, spanners, wire splicers… _Flashlights. No, I can see just fine. That would only give my enemy an advantage._ Vermaak broke in on his comm.

"What's your status, Stukov?"

"I just made it inside."

"Good," Vermaak said, sounding slightly surprised. "What's your plan now?"

"There are three men up there—and Oyaleni."

"That's what Marín told me. Two marines and the engineer that's trying to cut her out."

"I'm going to access the lift, take out the guards, and then deal with Oyaleni… I need to get in there-now."

"Marín wasn't too happy when I told her what you were doing."

"Oh? What did she say?"

"She objected. Pretty spectacularly."

"Heh."

"She's gonna blame me if you get hurt. So don't. Lift doors on that level should be unguarded. Level isn't used for much."

"If I get through, I'll let you know. If I don't…"

"I can figure that out on my own. Go on. We don't got much time."

Stukov shambled down the hallway, his magnetic boots sticking with each step. He turned them off. Briefly he considered removing his helmet, but he thought better of it. _Obscuring my identity—arm notwithstanding—might give me an advantage_. _And it would afford me some protection from their weapons._ Prying the lift-shaft doors open, he searched in the darkness for the ladder that would take him up to the bridge. The lift was inoperable, and so the trek would take some time. There were work lights strung up from the bottom of the shaft. _I'm not the first to make this climb._ It was still hard to see, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the light. Admittedly, he was more used to low light than he was to the brightness of a battlecruiser interior. He could see well enough to perceive that the bottom of the shaft was a long way down. Choosing his motions carefully, he climbed awkwardly in his ill-fitting boots, his bloated arm more of an inconvenience than a benefit.

But when he got to the bridge, he put it to good use. He wedged his fingers between the doors, pulling them slightly apart to peek through. Marín sat defiantly on top of her desk as the engineer, his torch throwing sparks in the darkness, tried to cut through the office door. An orange glow was growing in the metal. In a few minutes, he would be through. Otherwise, the bridge was dark, and the torch threw an eerie glow on the now-black surfaces of the polished-glass interfaces of the Umojan ship's bridge.

"How much longer?" Oyaleni said.

"Almost there, General."

 _I'm here, Admiral… in the lift…_

Marín's dark eyes flitted up. He imagined that she caught his eye, but there was no way she could see him in the darkness. Marín turned away slowly, shifting forward slightly on the desk. The two soldiers were camped beside the elevator doors, waiting. They were watching Oyaleni, but their guns were trained on the lift. _This might be… painful._

"I'm starting my assault," Stukov said quietly over his comm, not waiting for Vermaak to answer. He turned it off and turned on the speaker on his helmet in case he needed to speak to the marines or Oyaleni. Just as he pushed the door open wider, Marín launched her body shoulder-first against the door, making a loud thud that reverberated down to the deckplates below. The engineer wailed in fright and fell backwards, burning himself with his own torch. The two soldiers turned and took a few steps forward, training their guns on the office, surprised by the sudden commotion. Stukov laughed quietly to himself. It was just what he needed.

"Don't let her intimidate you. Get back to work!" Oyaleni said, yelling at the spooked engineer. Stukov whipped his arm forward and grabbed the first soldier throwing him behind him and down the lift shaft. The other man rounded on him. Stukov put his human hand up and spoke through his speaker, pitching his voice up and trying to sound Umojan.

"Friend! Don't shoot! Friend! What the hell was that?"

The soldier hesitated, confused, just long enough for Stukov to turn his arm back around and shove the man against the wall, cracking his CMC's faceplate and knocking him unconscious. Oyaleni turned to him in surprise and fright. Stukov removed his helmet and advanced towards her, his arms slightly raised. _There's no point in resistance now. There's nothing she can do to stop me._

"Stukov," she said angrily.

"Oyaleni, this stops now. Give me your stun pistol."

"You're making a mistake," she said, calmly taking out her stun pistol and handing it to him stock first.

"I know that I am not," he said, reaching for the pistol. "Now," Stukov said, looking around, "you're going to call you subordinates and…" as he put his hand on it, Oyaleni grabbed his arm and pulled him to her, hitting him with an uppercut with her other hand. As a man, the blow would have broken his jaw and knocked him out cold. Oyaleni was larger than him and a trained marine, but as it was, the blow staggered him, and he could already feel tendrils of zerg infestation wrapping around the shattered bones in his jaw, knitting them back together. With a fluid motion, she pulled a hidden high-caliber pistol out of her jacket and shot him point-blank in the chest. His human reaction was to gasp and clutch at his chest as gel from the suit and his purple-black blood poured out onto his hands.

"What, you didn't think I'd _shoot_ you? You're a fucking parasite."

His vision tunneled as he looked down at himself. Suddenly the blood wasn't purple and already coagulating in the hole in his chest; it was red and flowing freely down his UED uniform and splattering on his black boots. He looked up at Oyaleni. The howl of the Swarm flooded his mind, urging him to eliminate the threat and kill the human. With a feral growl he leapt at her, wrenching the gun out of her hand. The engineer scrambled away back to the lift, disappearing into the shaft. He grabbed her by the throat and shoulders with his infested arm, pushing her against the steel and glass door of Marin's office. Behind him, Marín backed into the desk, vaulting over it to get away from them, despite the fact they were on the other side of the door. Stukov was cowed by Marín's presence. Her eyes were wide as she watched them. Oyaleni screamed at him in anger.

"Don't touch me, you disgusting—"

"General, I am well aware of your prejudice against me and my… affliction…"

"You also can't be trusted. Marín can't see it, but I can. You can barely contain yourself now that you've become powerful again—and we _helped_ you. And now that your son is safe, you'll take him and turn against us—and we can do nothing to stop it."

"That… is not true," but in a way, it was. Had he not just been thinking about his motivations? And she was right. He was unstable, but he wasn't sure that was why. "And despite that you just _shot_ me, I have no interest in harming you." But what she had said was enough to call his attention away from her movements. She grabbed the stun pistol from him and jammed it into his temple, firing it against his head. His vision went black and he could hear himself screaming, but it grew fainter and fainter. Pain ripped through him, traveling from his temple down into the pit of his stomach, lighting fires as it went. He could feel it in his teeth; he could feel it in his bones. His flesh twisted and spasmed. It was like extending his arm a great distance but all over his body. In his mind, Oyaleni became Narud as he had first appeared—as Samir Duran. His rifle was still in his hands. He smirked at him, watching Stukov fall to the ground as he tried to staunch his fatal wound with his ruined arm.

But then the pain stopped. He heard a clicking by his ear. Oyaleni was straddling his chest and he was sprawled out on the floor. The charge on the pistol was spent, but Oyaleni was still desperately firing, still trying to incapacitate him. _No, not incapacitate,_ he thought, _she wants to kill. If she wanted to stun me, my stomach would have worked just as well_. His mind cleared and the Swarm howled again, overwhelming him—and he let it. He reached up for her with both arms, grabbing her by the throat. As he sat up, he lifted her, pulling himself up from the ground and standing. Oyaleni struggled to touch the ground with her boots. He slammed her against the door again, baring his teeth and getting into her face. Then he slammed her again. And again. And again, harder and harder. She went limp in his hands. He became dimly aware that Marín was behind her, saying something and beating on the glass. There was blood seeping from the back of Oyaleni's head, pooling at her neck and running down the front of her jacket. She coughed. Blood ran from her mouth.

"You're a beast," she muttered, barely conscious. He slammed her against the door again in anger.

"And a venomous one at that, General," he said coldly. He had to speak loudly to hear himself over the Swarm. "You're so afraid of infestation, aren't you? You _won't_ be…" His arm swelled slightly; the small orifice in his palm revealed itself, preparing to sink its teeth into her neck. "Infestation inhibits fear for… most… of the infested. As it does most higher brain function…" He had in a way predicted this, thinking that she would repeat her loathing of him in brain death on their first meeting.

"Don't…" she said weakly, "you _monster_."

"And you'll be the same."

Stukov heard something. He turned his eyes slowly from Oyaleni, loath to take his attention off his prey. It was Marín, her eyes wide with fright. Her mouth was open. She was saying something he couldn't hear and pounding on the glass of the door. The screaming voices of the zerg became fainter. He could hear her now.

"Stukov! No! Stop this!"

There was fear in her face. _Of me._ In the dim light of the bridge, he could see his glowering eyes and mouth twisted into a snarl reflected in the glass. He saw what Oyaleni saw, and what he had been hiding from Marín. And no matter his intentions, he had broken his promise and was betraying her trust. He lowered Oyaleni slowly to the floor where she collapsed in a heap. He picked her up and carried her to the war table, sitting her up against it. Stukov injected her with healing mutagen and then covered her with just enough infestation to keep her from moving. Turning towards the door again, he peered hesitantly at Marín, walking slowly towards her. Stukov looked at himself in the glass again. This time, he appeared anxious and tired. Blood—Oyaleni's blood—speckled the windowed door. It looked like it was on his face. She backed away. _She's still afraid_. He realized the depth of his mistake. He had let the Swarm possess him and let go of his humanity—and she had seen him do it.

 _It's safe to come out now, Fleet Admiral_.

 _You'll excuse me if I stay on my side. I'll let Vermaak know you were… successful._

She went to her desk and righted her chair, sitting in it and pulling out her datapad. Stukov sighed and turned around to sit with his back against the office door. Resting the back of his head against the cool glass, his anger was replaced by regret.

 _I'm sorry, Marín… I…_

He waited and she didn't respond.

 _I overreacted. Oyaleni… I've… been shot before. By an ally—or someone I thought was one. It was an explosive round at close range. I had just enough time to turn and shield myself, but… It mutilated my face and almost amputated my left arm,_ he said, holding his infested arm aloft, _it did take one of my fingers._ Counting off his fingers of his left hand, he showed her he had only four. In Marín's mind, he felt the fleeting recognition that she hadn't noticed until now. _But it didn't help._ He put his hand to his suit where Oyaleni had shot him. _Shrapnel from the bullet pierced my chest and my aorta. I knew I was a dead man. I watched myself bleed out—and could do nothing to stop it. That's how I_ died _Marín_ , _betrayed by another officer—an old friend—and an ally._

Marín said nothing. He couldn't bring himself to turn to look at her or to read her thoughts again.

 _There are many questions about my infestation that will always be unanswered. But I believe this is why I am… like this._ Stukov put his hands in his lap, looking at them side by side. One, monstrous and unrecognizable, and yet it was his hand. The other, familiar, but inside fueled not by blood but by the corruption of the zerg. It was his no longer; his body was born of the Swarm and he merely inhabited it. _My injuries are where the infestation took hold—I'm sure of it. Oyaleni triggered that memory. I was already scared… I thought she may hurt you if I didn't succeed—or my son. I… couldn't let that happen._

There was silence on the bridge. He knew that Vermaak, Ahlberg, and Barre were making their move, and that soon power would be restored and the conflict would be over. And so would his relationship with Marín, but at least she knew why and not that he was cruel by nature. There was a pressurized hiss behind him. Stukov leaned forward as the door jolted against his back. He heard Marín push the door open and the scuffle of her boots she walked past him to Oyaleni.

"Will she be all right?" She said quietly, not turning to him.

"Yes. What I have given her… in a few hours, she will be completely healed."

"Good."

"I'm… sorry. You told me not to…"

She waved away his apology. Putting her hands on the war table, she hung her head and sighed. Tiredly, she turned to him, leaning against the war table, crossing her arms. The anger and fear had left her, he realized, but she was exhausted.

"Are you going to be okay? A stun pistol to the temple… that should be lethal."

Stukov let out a short laugh and leaned back against the glass, looking up and trying not to look at her. He was afraid to. He didn't want to see the emotions in her face.

"Lethal means little to someone already dead."

Finally, he looked back at her. It was her turn to look away.

"Is that all… true?"

"Is what?"

"What you told me… getting shot… watching yourself die?"

"Yes."

"I can't imagine… and remembering your _death_ …"

"I guess that's not something most people experience… you're the only one I've told that to… that part of it anyway…"

It was an intimate part of his history. In truth it made him feel naked, but she needed to know.

"Does this happen… often?"

"Does what?"

"Being… triggered."

"Oh. No… I… usually I have more control."

"See that it doesn't happen again."

"It won't…" He sat back against the glass and closed his eyes. "Marín, I'm sorry…" he blurted out. He was frustrated and almost crying. "I don't know what's wrong with me…"

He started when he felt her hand lightly resting on the human side of his face. Stukov opened his eyes. She sat down next to him.

"You shouldn't have come up here. You should have helped Vermaak…"

"No. You needed help. I had to…"

Marín sighed. "And I'm grateful. But how do we keep this from happening again?"

Stukov's mind worked quickly. There was no way he could think of that would cause a total cessation of the zerg's influence on his mind. But if he was right that being around humans was changing him, perhaps he could use that to his advantage in his relationship with Marín.

"Talking."

"What?"

"Like this. To someone who has been through what I have… combat… leadership… loss… I've been alone a long time. If I felt human again…"

"You wouldn't feel the need to be zerg."

"Something like that. If we could talk… regularly… You don't have to be alone with me… I could watch you drink…"

"I guess if you think it will help you, Stukov."

"Alexei. Please call me Alexei." He lightly touched her hand with his glove.

Renata then. When this is over, we'll… talk."

The lights on the bridge came on. He could hear air in the vents. The holographic image above the war table displayed its boot sequence. Marín stood abruptly. Stukov shakily rose and followed her to the war table.

 _Back to work…_

* * *

Above the _Oppenheimer's_ war table, Admiral Curchack's tired face slowly took form. She squinted at Valerian, her lips pursing as if she had tasted something sour.

"Valerian Mengsk," she said, her voice at once sounded both irritated and surprised, "I'm obliged to formally request you to surrender to Directorate forces immediately."

"Hold that thought, if you please. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

Curchack sighed.

"Vice Admiral Christine Curchack of the _Aleksander II_ , commander of the _Destroyer Fleet's_ combined battlecruiser armada."

And what an armada it was, Valerian thought, looking at the immense fleet of ships that the _Oppenheimer's_ war table told him stretched out in all directions. _They are doing what we expected. Gathering her for an advance on Korhal_. _That can be the only explanation._

"And you have exactly five minutes to explain the nature of your communication with me or surrender. Otherwise, I have no choice by to attack and subdue your small fleet."

 _Interesting. It doesn't sound as if she_ wants _to engage._ Valerian wondered why that could be. _Whatever the reason_ , he thought, _she is reacting to this situation very differently than I would imagine Reeves would_. Valerian much preferred Curchack so far. _There are reasonable people in the UED perhaps… beyond Reeves, DuGalle, and Stukov._ He had little time to setup his ruse, and so he began to speak quickly before she could rethink her reaction.

"I've come to you because I have information that would be beneficial to the powers of Earth, and so I would hope we can come to _quid pro quo_ agreement."

Curchack's eyes narrowed. It was clear she didn't trust him. _There's a lot of that going around_.

"You're defecting?"

"I…wouldn't call it that…"

"Then what would you call it?"

"Acknowledgment of Earth as a superior nation and power, exceeding the Koprulu sector in art, literature, and…"

"You don't have to kiss our asses, Mengsk. Forget I asked. What is your 'information?'"

"Because of my position as a former leader of the Terran Republic and my resources through my connection to Moebius Corp, I am privy to the plans and movements of the combined fleet as well as their strengths—and weaknesses. I will give you whatever information I have and continue to be your eyes and ears… if a few small concessions are made."

"And what concessions might those be?"

A small smile played at Valerian's lips.

 _Perhaps my dream of a united Koprulu sector is not yet dead._

* * *

Nova knew something was not right the moment she made her way onto the Dalarian Shipyards. The main structure—the station that connected the docking arms and held the central control tower—was suspiciously quiet. _With the number of ships outside, shouldn't there be twice as many personnel? And more Directorate officers._ But from where she crouched in the access tunnel above one of the shipyard's main computer nodes, she saw very few people walk by. _I'm not going to question it. Not my job. This just makes my mission easier._ She removed the panel and silently dropped down into the room, engaging her cloak. She inspected the terminal in the small, octagonal room. _Valerian's intel was good…this terminal looks like it has access to the mooring control for this end of the station._ On the other side of shipyard, Delta Emblock—the only ghost from her team she had been able to reconcile with after their ill-fated mission against the Defenders of Man—waited for her signal. Reaching under the computer's console and finding an inconspicuous spot, Nova planted a small, wireless, data tap device.

"Delta, are you in place?"

"Yes, ready when you are."

 _Now, we see if Horner's intel is good..._ On both devices was a code key. When activated together, it would look as though the tower was launching all ships at the same time—if Horner had the correct one.

"All right. Synchronize. Set the timer for five minutes. When the ships launch, they'll know we've been here…"

"They already do."

In one fluid motion, Nova reached behind her and unsheathed her monomolecular blade and swung it where she could now feel the presence of the man standing behind her. When her mind registered who it was, the blade stopped inches from his face. Shin regarded it coolly, his good eye flitting towards it, then turning back to her.

"Do you even know how to _use_ that?" he quipped.

" _You_ again," Nova said, decloaking. "What do you want?"

"To help you."

"I don't need your help this time."

"You're right. I meant 'you' as in your people. Because your friend is more interested in power than a win."

"What friend?"

"The little emperor…" he said condescendingly.

"Valerian," she said, unsurprised. "What has he done?"

"Made a deal. For what, I don't know. I only know that part of it was letting you free. I've been tailing you since you came onboard. I _was_ going to try to stop you. But I was ordered to stand down."

"But why would the Directorate let us get away?"

"That you'll have to figure out on your own. You're already here... See what you can find!"

"If you know, old man. You need to tell me," Nova said quietly and menacingly from between clenched teeth. For a second, the room went slightly sideways for Nova. When she blinked to get her bearings, he was gone. "Goddamn it," she said quietly. Shin's powers were of a type of which she was unfamiliar. She had heard of ghosts that their strength was in hypnotism or suggestion. Nova thought that Shin was one of these. Which meant he was still probably in the room, but he had convinced her brain that he was not and then, most likely, engaged his cloak. This was how, she reasoned, he had been able to drop Gregory, who had a PI of a little over eight, by just telling him to sleep. His PI was most likely on the low end, but like Delta and her pyrokinesis, his type of power made up for his lack of telekinetic powers. Nova reactivated her comm to hear Delta and Reigel yelling in her ear.

"I'm fine…" she said, exasperated. "But we have a change of plans…"


	19. Chapter 19: The Body

One note: I have retconned the name of the second broodmother. Her name is now Drezsera. Sorry it took so long!

* * *

It weighed on Marín that what happened on the bridge during the mutiny would have to remain between her and Stukov. She did not like keeping things from her crew, but it would be necessary to do so. The fleet would doubt him after his loss of control to the Swarm and his subsequent actions against Oyaleni. They would not understand, and Marín felt that she did. _Now, anyway. With what he's been through…_ Oyaleni stirred as two medics dragged her up from her position on the floor and wrestled her onto a gurney. Vermaak looked on, still in his CMC, his rifle trained on her as Dr. Laurent scanned her with her ocular implants. Her eyebrows arched quizzically.

"She has taken a beating, obviously, but she seems almost completely healed…"

"I have some… regenerative abilities… in addition to my infestation," Stukov said, his voice raspier than usual.

 _Is that strain? No. The man can't feel tired. You have to be alive to feel tired._ Oyaleni's eyes lolled over towards Stukov.

"Monster! You… _parasite_!" she screamed, fighting her way back up from the gurney. Marín and Stukov exchanged meaningful glances.

"Stand down, General!" Vermaak bellowed, taking a step forward and hefting his rifle at her threateningly. Marín could tell he was livid from the tone of his voice over his CMC speakers. She wondered if he would have the nerve to actually shoot her if the situation demanded it. Dr. Laurent pulled her medical bag from under the gurney and quickly loaded a hyposol with tranquilizers. As the medics pushed her back down, Dr. Laurent plunged the hyposol down on her bare wrist—and it did nothing. Oyaleni growled and continued to grow agitated. Stukov stepped forward from opposite Marín at the war table and moved to put his body in between her and Oyaleni. As he did, his back tensed, and she watched his arm expand slightly under his environmental suit. _Great. That's all I need. Both of them unnecessarily worried for my welfare._ She was grateful for Stukov's intervention in the mutiny, but valuing her life over others was a distraction that could compromise their main mission: to send the UED home.

"The tranquilizers… don't seem to be working…" Dr. Laurent said, her voice even despite Oyaleni struggling against her as she loaded the hyposol again.

"Probably a regrettable side effect of my mutagen…"

"HE TRIED TO INFEST ME!" Oyaleni yelled, sitting up again. Her voice was fearful and delirious.

"SHUT UP, JANE!" Vermaak, tired of her bullshit, used his heavy mechanical hand to push her back on the gurney as Dr. Laurent, on her third round of sedatives, was successful in rendering her unconscious.

"Just get her _out of here_!" Marín said, sidestepping Stukov. He looked back over his human shoulder at her uncertainly and their eyes met again. Even without communicating telepathically, she knew what he was thinking. Would they believe Oyaleni? _They won't take her word over ours, Stukov. She's a mutineer. And I'm sure as hell_ not _going to tell them what happened._ Stukov nodded almost unperceptively. Marín was unsure if he read her eyes or her mind, but they understood each other.

With Oyaleni finally incapacitated, the medics and Dr. Laurent wheeled her away. Vermaak strode noisily across the bridge, keeping a close eye on them. The lift door opened as they neared, and Barre and Ahlberg stumbled out of it, blinking in the bright light of the bridge, breathers still hanging around their necks. Barre was uncharacteristically disheveled, his normally perfectly styled black hair plastered in wet curls on his forehead. Ahlberg, whom Marín knew to be hot-natured, was blood red, his undershirt removed and his tunic unzipped to his navel revealing his fuzzy, sweaty chest. Marín was glad to see them. Their state aside, it could have been worse. _It_ has _been worse_ , Marín thought, remembering the day Vermaak came back missing most of his leg.

Barre and Ahlberg moved out of the medics' way as they loaded Oyaleni into the lift. Vermaak followed them. Barre's tiredness seemed to vanish when he saw Oyaleni on the stretcher. He lived for drama and intrigue, and she could tell he was invigorated by what he saw. _That curiosity might be a problem,_ Marín thought. As Vermaak moved into the lift, he turned to her.

"I'm putting Oyaleni under the brig and she's gonna stay there," Vermaak said, pausing in the door of the lift. "I'll have a guard on her twenty-four seven."

"See that you do," Marín said. Stukov had moved back to the war table and had begun to mull over their data on the UED fleet. Despite this, she saw him tense at the word "brig." "And while you're down there, check on our Directorate guests."

"Right," Vermaak said with professional finality. He stepped inside the lift, but as the door began to close, caught it with the side of his metal gauntlet. He paused for a second, as if reluctant to speak again. His CMC whirred as he shifted his weight slightly, and the reticule on his faceplate moved towards Stukov, signaling where his attention was focused. Stukov turned to him, either sensing his attention or noticing the pregnant pause.

"You did good, Admiral."

Stukov turned to face him, straightened to his full height, and nodded his acceptance of the begrudging compliment. The metallic fingers of Vermaak's CMC slid off the side of the door, and it closed with a soft hiss.

When the door closed, it was as if the atmospheric pressure in the room had dropped. Ahlberg, now at his station, let out a relieved sigh and fanned himself with a datapad.

"Same," Barre said. "I don't think I can trust a soldier again. How could she? I can't believe… "

"I have a hard time believing it too," Marín said. She and Oyaleni had their differences, but she did not understand the lengths Oyaleni went to overturn her command.

"Me neither," Ahlberg said, trotting back down the few steps to the war table and grasping Marín in a sweaty hug. "Thank _god_ you're all right."

"And thank god Stukov was able to get up here," Barre said. "But how was he able to get here and get in? The monitors were off… and Vermaak wouldn't tell us." _Oh, here we go,_ Marín thought. _He's already fishing._ "What I wouldn't have given to see you storm the bridge, Stukov." Stukov didn't look like he wanted to answer, but reluctantly turned to Barre, trying to formulate something to say.

"You missed very little. It was… quick."

"He walked right in," Marín said, half-sarcastically. Barre looked at her and blinked a few times before realizing that neither of them was going to elaborate. Stukov had turned back towards the war table and was regarding something there intently.

"Fine… Keep your secrets—for now. Later, after a few mai tais, I know you'll tell me all about it. How long do you think until Oasis is back in service? I needed a drink hours ago." With the mention of Oasis, Marín remembered her promise to Stukov. After some rest, some crew bonding and moral boosting might be in order. _I could kill two birds with one stone—but later. There's a lot to do right now_. And she felt like she was forgetting something.

"Let them at least sweep up the mess, Barre. And who knows? Marines might've made off with all the booze."

"Those _wretches_. They better not have."

"Speaking of which," Marín said, shifting her attention to Ahlberg and the conversation away from Stukov. "Do you have those numbers on who was part of the mutiny and who was not?"

"Not fully. The _Fuerza_ seems to have been the main ship involved in the, uh, uprising… Unsurprising, really. That's where Oyaleni was stationed after coming from the _Liberté_. The liberators that scrambled to intercept ours came from there as well. All other _Edge Fleet_ ships stood down when Oyaleni was captured.

"Were the others that fearful of her?" Stukov said. _He sounds tired again… or just subdued. Sheepish maybe? Is he embarrassed? What happened may be weighing on him._

"I think they were fearful of what she was selling," she said, looking him in the eye, "That you had infested me, and that I was under your control." Stukov's face darkened. "But after Barre and Ahlberg were able to contact you, they also broadcast my most recent scan from decontam to be verified by their ships' medical officers."

"And the _Fuerza_ was the only ship that seemed to ignore this," Barre chimed in.

"Have you heard directly from their captain?" Stukov said.

"No, not face-to-face…" Barre said.

"We should send someone over there. They may still be under marine control," Stukov said.

"Field that, Ahlberg," Marín said, turning to him. "Send whatever marines are ready and aren't with Vermaak. And expect resistance from their men… but if they haven't fired on us…"

"There may be something going on there internally. I'm on it." Ahlberg gathered up his datapad again and started walking to the lift. "And maybe it's cooler downstairs."

Marín chuckled as the lift doors closed behind him.

"What's out next course of action?" Stukov said.

"We should raise Admiral Horner. Tell him what happened and that everything is under control now. Barre?"

"Raising the _Hyperion_ , aye."

Horner picked up immediately.

"Admiral Marín! Stukov!" Horner said, a look of relief washing over his face. "You had me worried there. What in the belt happened?"

"Oyaleni took me hostage and… tried to instigate a mutiny. Stukov had to… subdue her."

" _General_ Oyaleni?"

"Yes, we're dealing with that internally. Lieutenant General Vermaak will take over for her as head of all marine deployments. In the meantime…" Marín looked at Stukov. "I think it best if we return to the _Beynac_."

 _What about the other broodmother?_ Stukov thought to her. His voice sounded worn to him even in her head. The warmth was hardly there, and she could feel what she thought was pain.

 _She can wait_ , Marín thought back. Stukov nodded. "I need to talk to the leader of the ships that were sent from Umoja's shipyards," Marín said to Horner, " _and_ a lot of our fleet has repairs that would be better performed with the hardware that the _Beynac_ has on hand."

"So… you took down Grellna despite the mutiny?"

"Yes, Lieutenant General Vermaak and I were successful in taking over Grellna's brood. One broodmother remains. I agree we should regroup, but we should not leave without doing some reconnaissance to assess the other broodmother as a threat," Stukov said.

"When Ahlberg comes back, I'll speak to him about a probe…"

"No need. I am communicating with Izsha. She has the coordinates—and an overseer would be less conspicuous."

"Fair enough," Marín said. Stukov got a far-off look in his eye for a moment.

"It is underway."

"We're going to need some time as well," Horner said. "We got into a little war dance of our own over here… Vice Admiral Mullenix began taking pot shots at the ships you left behind and eventually us… I had to call in a favor and enlist the protoss to get a handle on him." Marín took a step back in shock. She had not suspected that the mutiny would embroil the rest of the fleet. If anything, she thought that Mullenix would simply block communications and wait for Oyaleni's signal.

"Then on the behalf of the Umojan Protectorate, I apologize for their actions. We knew that he would most likely be in line with Oyaleni, but he should not have taken up arms against you. He was not acting on orders from our government."

"Relax. I know that had nothing to do with you," Horner said, waving his hand to stop her apology. "Just rest up and get back here so we can plan how we're going to punch the UED out of the sky." He said forcefully, punching his hand into his palm. Marín admired his enthusiasm and smiled despite her exhaustion. Horner was a bit nebbish, but a warm soul. She thought of him as a humanized dog. _A golden retriever in a naval uniform_. She started to chuckle and get slap happy but suppressed it. Something similar had happened when she thought of Stukov kicking back and watching the news. Snapping out of it, she realized she had forgotten something important.

"One more thing. When we get back… I want to give Admiral Augustin and the crew of the _Vrede_ their sendoff. It'll take time to prepare, but… I'd like to do it before this war gets any more heated."

"Understood. I'll make sure everyone's on their best behavior when you get here. Horner out."

"Mullenix attacked _Core Fleet_? Are they insane?" Barre said.

"Valerian had something to do with this," Stukov said coldly. "This was _not_ just about possible infestation. I—" The comm interrupted him before he could say anything further.

"It's General Vermaak," Barre said.

"Patch him through."

"Vermaak here. I got bad news. The kid is gone. So are his friends."

Marín sucked in breath, and a wave of shock washed over Stukov's face before he returned to his sullen stony demeanor.

"Is there any indication where he has gone?" Marín asked.

"Afraid not. With the power off and the fail safes deactivated, he coulda just walked outta his cell."

Marín watched Stukov ball his fist in frustration.

"Look for him—and the shuttle crew. Make that your top priority."

"Right. Babysittin' it is." Vermaak called to someone off camera before he cut the comm. Marín, Barre, and Stukov stood in the remaining silence. Barre watched both of them, trying to make it look like he wasn't. Stukov was muttering something under his breath that Marín didn't understand but was clearly profane.

"They can't have gone far, Stukov," Marín said quietly. "They're probably somewhere on the ship hiding out, unaware they can return."

"I'm sure you are correct…" Stukov said, the exhaustion she thought she was imagining creeping back into his voice. _Losing his son, however briefly, on top of what happened… he's not inhuman. There's only so much he can stand, I'm sure. I need to watch him…_ She knew that if she didn't, something worse than the incident with Oyaleni could occur. She hoped nothing had happened to his son. Without Gregory, he may cease to be their ally. Though he seemed to care about their cause and seemed interested in establishing a rapport with her, that may change if his son was harmed—especially if it was by one of her subordinates. "…but of course I worry about…"

The comm came on again.

"It's Ahlberg," Barre said.

"Put him on," Marín said. She could tell by the look on his face that whatever he was going to say was going to something she didn't want to hear. His gaze was unsteady and so was his voice.

"Uh, Admiral Marín… Admiral Stukov… I think you might want to get down here to the starboard hanger…"

"What? Why?"

"It'll be easier to explain if you see it for yourself…"

"Okay…" Marín said uncertainly. She could feel Stukov's gaze boring into her. He was alert now, and she could see the anguish and fear on his face. "We'll be there in a few minutes." Without a word, Stukov followed Marín into the lift. "Computer, hangar level." Stukov said nothing as the lift got up to speed. His eyes never left her face. But other than the whirr of the lift, he said nothing.

"I know what you're thinking. Don't jump to conclusions."

"Renata, what other conclusion could there be? They found him… or they found his body. There is no other reason why they would want me to come down there."

"It could be for another reason…"

After his battle with Oyaleni and his fugue state, she could tell that Stukov was hanging by a thread. She wasn't sure what emotion would rush from him if it broke—rage, sorrow, pain, or all of the above. And towards whom it would be directed. She didn't know what he would do if Gregory was dead. Half of the reason why he was here would be gone. Marín again questioned if he would stay. _Would he leave? Would he turn against us? We're screwed if he does with the_ Uhuru _still needing repairs… His zerg fleet would just… devour us…_ But despite this, seeing the human anguish in his face, she felt compassion for him.

"I don't…" he began. She took a step towards him. He stopped talking as she put her hand lightly on his chest near the control unit for his environmental suit.

"Alexei… we don't know that. And if that _is_ what happened…" He seemed to calm as he looked down at her, his eyes softening. "Then we'll deal with it… _and_ those responsible." Stukov said nothing, but tentatively put his gloved hand over hers.

The door to the lift opened and they walked quickly to the starboard hangar. They passed many officers, injured, haggard, their uniforms half discarded from the discomfort of the long-inoperative environmental systems. When they finally entered the hangar, it was in a state of disarray as Marín had never seen it. It was as if everything had shifted forward slightly, and some things were just gone. Ahlberg and Jansa walked briskly towards them, their eyes wide with concern. When Marín stopped, Stukov continued past her unnoticing, walking hurriedly towards them.

"What have you found?" he said, anxiety tinging his voice. Ahlberg stopped dead in his tracks as Stukov moved towards him. With his arm and his ripped atmo suit casting tall shadows into the now only partially lit hangar, he looked brooding and threatening. Jansa also stopped, putting her hands up. In one was a twisted, white object. Marín didn't even see Stukov move when he snatched it out of Jansa's hand with his infested claw. Stukov stopped, studying it. "It's his psi dampener. What does it mean? Where is he?"

Ahlberg sighed.

"The Directorate shuttle Admiral Marín and Nova commandeered is gone. So is the flight crew—and Gregory."

"They… escaped?"

"We think so…" Jansa said, "They made a mess of my office… and the hanger. Someone stole a powercell and bypassed the door mechanism. The shield didn't activate and everything that wasn't strapped down was vented into space… and they went with all of it."

"Then… they're alive?"

"What? Well, I mean, probably," Ahlberg said.

"Alexei, I know that's not the best of news…" Marín said quietly, standing beside him.

"It's better than I thought it would be," he said, gripping what remained of the psi dampener. "Or…" he said, turning to Marín, a fearful look on his face.

"You… you don't think they would go back to the fleet?" Marín said.

"My son is under mistaken the impression that the Directorate has something to offer him."

"But you told me the two women we captured knew well enough not to go back. Do you think he has somehow changed their minds?"

"Perhaps… but they could have changed his as well."

"They could be anywhere then," Ahlberg said.

"And the Directorate may discover them first," Stukov said.

"Not if we go after them now," Marín said. She thanked both Ahlberg and Jansa and motioned for Stukov to follow her. Once in the hallway, Marín pressed her hand against the long, black terminal that ran down the side of the corridor. The computer recognized her handprint and an interface appeared. "Call Lieutenant General Vermaak, please." Vermaak's familiar, weathered face appeared on the screen.

"Admiral?"

"Hey, Wynand… We have a situation. We think Gregory Stukov escaped in a shuttle and we need to find him. Who do you have available?"

"Shadowguards. Nearly all of them. If you're gonna catch a teek…"

"Baze then?"

"Better. How about Baze _and his team_? _"_

"Great. Have them come down to the starboard hangar and talk to Jansa. There might be some clue as to where they have gone there. I'll get Barre to contact other vessels in the area. Someone had to have been scanning when they left. Maybe someone saw them leave. I'll send you the report."

"Yep. They'll be underway in five minutes."

As Marín got off the comm with Vermaak and conferred with Barre, she thought about Vermaak and Stukov. She was glad that the two of them seemed to be getting along now, and that Vermaak was warming to him. _Maybe when I begin "talking" with Stukov, I can bring him along. Stukov believes we have a lot in common, but Wynand's experience is closer to his even than mine. I'm sure_ they'd _have more to talk about. And,_ she thought, _Wynand needs friends._ There was also something she didn't like about it. She knew _why_ they were beginning to become friendly to each other (or at least part of it)—they had something in common: they both felt protective, _More like_ overprotective, she thought, _of me_. With Vermaak it was because she was his partner, but with Stukov she thought it may have been him seeing himself in her, or out of a desire to mentor her. She wondered if they talked further that would become clear.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched Stukov lean heavily against the wall. His face was drawn, and the psionic light in his eyes dimmed. There was no mistaking it now; Stukov, despite his superhuman powers, was exhausted. Marín cut her call with Barre short.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Stukov misunderstood the question.

"Gregory's not dead. The news is better than I expected."

"I'm sorry. We'll do what we can to make this right."

"It's not your fault, Renata. It's Oyaleni's, and you have her in hand." A crewman walked by and Stukov lowered his voice. "And if I am honest, it makes me feel not so bad about what I did." Stukov looked wan for a moment and rubbed his face.

"Alexei?"

"I'm fine. I feel… Tired? No, spent. Out of power. I don't… I've never felt this way since…" She filled in the blanks. Since he died. "I should feel powerful with Grellna's brood under my control."

"This has been a lot to take in. And you've been shot and stunned point blank. If you're not exhausted physically, I'm sure you are mentally. Do you want me to find you somewhere here to rest? I gave Barre shit about it, but we could go to Oasis… or I could find you a room…"

Stukov perked up a bit at this, his brow raising and a bemused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"As much as I'd like that, I should return to my ship. I need a change of clothes—my own clothes—and I must prepare my new fleet for the journey back to the _Beynac_."

"Then I'll let you go," Marín said. She put out her hand but thought better of it and gave him a quick hug. He had saved her life, she reasoned. They were probably beyond a handshake. He seemed dazed when she pulled away. After walking to the port hangar, Stukov seemed to stumble over his goodbye. Marín watched as he disappeared into the hangar, feeling tired herself. _Maybe I should try to rest too…_

* * *

The sky outside the shuttle was packed with stars. There was no atmosphere on the tiny asteroid where they were parked, and the belt it resided in was almost a lightyear from the star it encircled. Dauphin looked out across the gray basin before them, focusing on a jagged cliff several hundred meters from the ground. She couldn't see Gregory, but she knew he was crouched there, his cloaking device engaged. She and KD sat in the cockpit, their environmental suits on and their pistols strapped to their hips, waiting for the other ship to signal them and touch down.

It had been very easy for Dauphin and KD to find jobs as "couriers" in Kel-Morian space. KD was a fast talker, they had a working ship with no registry, both of them had clean records (or any records, being from Earth), and they were a skilled shuttle flight crew. They also asked very few questions. Thinking it best that Gregory be off the radar, Dauphin and KD didn't mention their silent, invisible partner, fearing that it would attract attention or the kind of job that would put Gregory in harm's way. Their first job was for a wealthy wildcatter—a man named Hagopian who owned a business called Hagopian and Sons—and seemed easy enough. In his surveys, Hagopian had come across an unauthorized cloning lab owned by a crime syndicate. The syndicate offered him hush money in return for the only copies of his survey files. Of course, they weren't supposed to know this—Gregory had read the wildcatter's mind. Looking back, Dauphin realized that though they had met the senior Hagopian, they had not met any of his sons.

Both KD and Dauphin were frightened by the prospect of working with organized crime, but Gregory had been nonplussed. "You want to see some shit? Work for the government. These people are my grandmother in comparison." And for some reason, Dauphin trusted him. She trusted he would see the ship land, and if the deal went south, he would be there.

KD, her feet up on the console, moved her foot to look at the shipboard time display on her screen.

"They're late," she said.

"They're thugs," Dauphin said, "of course they're late." But it had only been five minutes. A shadow passed over the shuttle's viewport, and a small, nondescript cruiser set down a few meters away, cockpit viewport facing theirs. KD got up.

 _Wait for them to get out,_ a voice said in Dauphin's mind. KD stopped—she had heard it too. It was Gregory. He was watching. Dauphin let out a sigh of relief. They watched as two men—one tall and heavily biohacked, needing only a breather and a gun, the other, short, fat, in an atmo suit and carrying a large briefcase. They stood between the two ships, waiting for something to happen.

 _Okay, get the box… slowly. No reason to hurry. You have something they want._ Dauphin opened the storage locker and pulled out a small, metal chest about the size of her fist. Inside, she knew, was a hard drive, on which was the survey that the wildcatter had surreptitiously made. They opened the hatch and walked around the back of the shuttle. KD had her hand on her weapon.

 _I'm watching the big guy. Don't worry._

The shorter man grinned when he saw them, clearly not perceiving them as a threat.

"You got the goods, girlie?"

"Yes, I have the, er, 'goods.'"

"Let's see it."

"You first," KD said.

The man shrugged and opened his case. It had in it three canisters. In each one was what looked like a fetus. KD and Dauphin looked at each other sideways.

 _What? What's wrong?_

 _Did you know what the trade was?_

 _Cloning supplies. Why?_

 _YOU KNEW IT WAS BABIES?_

 _Babies? What? No? I thought it_ might _be a cloning matrix but…_

 _IT'S A CLONE! MORE THAN ONE CLONE! BABY CLONES!_

 _WHAT? Why would Hagopian want…?_

Taking advantage of their distraction, the fat man pulled out a gun from a pocket on the back of his spacesuit and pointed it at them.

"Listen, it's nothing personal, but since your boss asked for clones of his dead kids, we couldn't let you go back knowing what the trade was… and we can't let your boss live either since he know where our facility is. We used your comm traffic to pinpoint his location. He's probably dead now. And you're the final loose e—" a shot rang out before he could pull the trigger. Dauphin screamed as the man's arm—gun still in its hand—landed next to her. His bodyguard rounded to where he thought the shot had come from, but he was slammed bodily to the ground by a sudden bolt of psionic energy roughly in the shape of a man. KD opened fire on the thug with the briefcase; the faceplate of his helmet exploded in bloody shards of glass before he could even react to his arm being severed. In front of them, Gregory appeared out of his cloak and wrenched the bodyguard's gun out of his hand, turning it on him. He raised his hands in surrender as he still laid on the ground.

"You sure are a lousy shot," KD said.

"What?" Gregory said, scowling at KD briefly before turning back to his prisoner.

"You shot his arm off. Were you aiming for his head?"

"No! Carolyn told me not to _kill_ anyone! So, I shot him in the shoulder. Not my fault he wasn't wearing an armored atmo suit! Amateur."

"Amateur?" The bodyguard spat. "Do you know who you're dealing with?"

"Do you know who _you're_ dealing with?" Gregory retorted, his eyes glowing white with psionic energy.

At Dauphin's feet, a comm device on the other man's detached wrist began to beep. The three of them looked at it.

"You'd better get that," the bodyguard said.

"Don't listen to him," Gregory snapped at Dauphin. He turned back to the bodyguard, "Look, you need to get in your cruiser and…"

The dead man's comm stopped beeping. Immediately, the bodyguard's began to beep instead.

"I need to get this."

"No! Do not…" Gregory began, pointing the bodyguard's rifle at his head.

The bodyguard quickly touched his comm. A green holographic image of a woman projected from it. She was dressed in a long, loose-fitting dress and weighed down by jewelry. Dauphin couldn't tell much else from the hologram.

"Hm," The woman said, crossing her arms. "You don't look like a crew smart enough to keep ahead of me… Telling Hagopian to go to ground. You've definitely done this before."

"The galaxy's a dangerous place, what can we say?" Gregory said. He was definitely in his element here, Dauphin realized.

"Isn't it just? And you realize if you go back to Hagopian, I'll just track you and _then_ I'll kill him. And even if he somehow eludes me, I will track you down and kill you myself."

"Yes, I realize how crime syndicates work," Gregory said sarcastically, "and I also assure you you'll have a harder time getting ahold of us than you think you will."

"But it'll be a nuisance being always on your guard. What about we strike a deal?"

"Gregory, don't…" Dauphin began. Gregory held out his hand for her to stop.

"What kind of deal?"

"You go back to Hagopian, and I won't follow—if you do a job for me. I'll reward you handsomely, of course. This can only be done by a ghost. You are a ghost, right?"

Dauphin was reeling. This was what she had feared: Gregory getting mired in organized crime and falling into more trouble than they had been in before.

"Yes," Gregory said, "I'm listening."

* * *

Stukov smelled something that he could not place. He knew it was food and he recognized it, but it had been too long. He was standing outside, the wind blowing through his hair and his clothes. The grass on the green, rolling hills shifted in the breeze. There was a dark, dense forest in the distance and grey, boiling clouds on the horizon. Stukov could smell damp on the wind. Idly he placed his hand on a railing beside him and stopped to examine it. He recognized it as he did the field beyond, the smell of food, and the smell of ozone and rain. Turning around, his boots thudded dully on the narrow cedar deck of the country house that had been in his wife's family for centuries. The door was open; he could hear someone inside.

His mind struggled to make sense of the scene. _It must be early summer. Leave time_. His mind relaxed. He forgot he was infested, forgot that he had ever left Earth. Stukov was home. He confidently walked inside because he knew whom he would find. The inside of the house was rustic, the walls wooden and decorated sparsely with paintings of idyllic scenes like the one outside. The carpets and furniture were his old bachelor furniture which had come from their home piece by piece as his wife had replaced them with something more to her taste. He couldn't say that he had a style, so he really didn't care. Beyond, on the back of the living room, was a sliding door and another porch. He could hear the laughter of children from outside and shadows darkening the door. He walked to the back door and tried to open it but couldn't find the handle. Distracted by the noise of rattling plates and cutlery, Stukov walked left through the living room and into the kitchen. It was cramped and outdated but charming in that way. There was barely enough room for him to squeeze behind his wife, Vera, as she stirred something on the stove. He put his arms around her thin waist, brushing her graying blonde hair away from her neck to kiss her fair skin.

"Not much of a vacation if you spend it cooking."

"Don't be silly. I never come home early enough from the hospitalto ever cook at home. This is fun for me. But it _is_ your turn tomorrow."

She leaned back and kissed him on the cheek.

"Then tomorrow it would be best to order out." There was food already prepared on the counter—dumplings. He hastily grabbed one and popped it in his mouth.

"Hey!" She pulled a towel off the counter and smacked him in the rear with it. "Get out of that. Those are for later." He popped another one in his mouth and she hit him repeatedly, chasing him out of the kitchen, both of them laughing. "Get out of here!"

Stukov found himself back in the living room. There was a flock of taxidermized ducks on the opposite wall, flying in formation.

 _I should have let that go in the trash,_ he thought. But at the time, his uncle had just died and in the end, that was the only part of his belongings he kept. Stukov had inherited his uncle's summer house, but it was falling down and in the middle of a bog. _Good for duck hunting but not much else_. As a young man, duck hunting had appealed to him, but toting around a gun while off-duty was not appealing now. _Neither is putting on waders and trudging through cold muck_. He had sold it.

There was a knock at the door. _Who is visiting us here?_ Dread washed over him. _Is it bad news? Has something happened that they need me back at the lab?_ He opened the door. Standing behind it was Marín in her teal and greys. She held him in a quick embrace.

"Renata? What are you doing here?"

"You said you wanted to talk. I'm here to talk."

"Oh," he said. To his non-linear, subconscious mind, this made sense. "Yes, of course. Come in."

He motioned for her to come inside. The door to his quarters on the _Aleksander_ —new and clean as they were when they first departed Earth—slid shut behind her.

"I'm not disturbing you?" She said as she looked around his quarters at his small living room appraisingly.

"No, not at all. Please, sit down. Can I get you… a drink?" She sat down on the couch, languishing in the corner, her arm propped up on its back.

"Hm, what do you have?"

"Almost everything," he said, peering at bottles in the small bar in his room, "Do you like red wine?"

"Sure."

"No, you like mai tais. I remember."

"I also like to be surprised. Red wine is fine."

"Okay, I've been saving this one…"

He poured them both a glass and sat down next to her on the couch. His memory of the country house was gone, and his brain briefly felt the discontinuity. But he was distracted by Marín.

"Saving it for what?"

"A special occasion," he said, sitting down beside her.

"This is a special occasion?"

"You're here with me. In my quarters. And for once we're alone… no one calling for us…" He slid closer to her, and she sat up, taking a sip of her wine and putting it on the table behind her. He reached over and did the same. As he leaned over her, she caught his face with her hands and pulled him to her, kissing him. He was surprised but put his arms around her. As they kissed, her hand moved between them. She was pulling at his jacket. Between feverish kisses, he removed his own jacket and shirt and hers. He sat back to admire her; she was naked to the waist as she reclined on the couch. She was just as he had seen her in decontam. She ran her hands slowly down his chest, not seeming to mind he was a bit of a bear with his shirt off.

"What are you doing?" She said to him.

"Enjoying the view?"

"You can do more than just look, you know."

He reached forward and touched her face, his fingers white against her olive skin. He trailed his fingers lightly down her neck and chest, cupping her breast and rubbing his thumb gently against her nipple. She shivered slightly. He leaned forward to kiss her, and she met him halfway, pushing him backwards onto the couch and straddling him. With her now laying atop him, they kissed more ardently. As her hands moved down his body, he heard distant laughter outside. _Gregory? Alexandra?_

"Alexei?"

It was his wife's voice. _My wife?_

He smelled food again and cedar. Someone was walking lightly across the wooden floor towards his bedroom door. But the bedroom door wasn't there. Instead, on the other side was the living room of his country house. _Vera? Oh, no._ His mind was panicking. _She can't see this._ But he couldn't stop the dream. Marín was naked on top of him, fumbling with his trousers; Vera was about to catch him literally with his pants down with another woman. _She's going to kill me_. He had done and said many things he wasn't proud of after he lost control of his drinking and their relationship soured, but he had never cheated on her, though she had accused him of it. He would often disappear for days, staying at the lab. But he couldn't stop what was happening. A part of him didn't _want_ to stop.

His wife appeared in the doorway; her hand went to her face as she saw him with Marín.

"This isn't what it looks like," he managed to say. _Except that it is._ In the back of his brain something snapped, telling him the timeline was wrong. Places and people that were part of different lives were meeting when they shouldn't. He looked at his hands. They were the same—mirror images of each other. He looked up at Vera.

"You're not supposed to be here… you're… you're…"

Stukov struggled back to consciousness confused where and when he was; his jaw was clenched tightly and his body was taut with anxiety. Slowly reality came back to him. His wife—his ex-wife—was dead. He was infested. He wasn't having an affair, and if he _was_ in a relationship with Marin (and, he realized sadly, he wasn't) it wouldn't have been something he was ashamed of. His day came back to him—storming the bridge, his encounter with Oyaleni, finding out his son had escaped, and Marín telling him he looked like he needed rest. He had admitted he did. When he had returned to his quarters after setting a course for the _Beynac,_ Stukov had barely made it out of the shower before throwing himself on the bed—he even still only had a towel around his waist. He thought he would just rest for a moment. _I was asleep again_. He rolled slowly over on his back. Sadness settled into his chest when he found himself alone.

He sighed, analyzing the dream. The symbolism was obvious. A part of him wished to be human again and to go back to his wife. When he had come back to himself at Skygeirr, that was the first thing he wanted. And when he was re-infested, he still wanted to return despite the danger. But Kerrigan was right, and he also knew better. And now that he knew Vera was dead and that his children either were as well or were on their way to the Koprulu sector, he had no reason to return to Earth but nostalgia. _That does not mean I won't engage in wishful thinking—which was what all of that was._ The second act was the new life he saw for himself with Marín, infested or not. _My subconscious is trying to reconcile the two. One will win out._ He wasn't sure which. _But either way, my mind is still… human?_ His subconscious stubbornly refused to portray him as infested. _The Swarm cannot penetrate the core of my psyche. Or it knows it shouldn't. Interesting._ Doing so, he thought, would irrevocably change him, and they needed him the way he was—they needed him in control. Thinking back on the dream, he chided himself for fantasizing what could possibly come from her promise of meeting with him regularly to "talk." He would have to proceed carefully and build her trust; even so, he knew, she may never see him as a man…

 _Only a monster._ It would be harder now since he had seen him at his worst. He closed his eyes as his grief, guilt, and longing overwhelmed him. The Swarm began to whisper to him. _No._ He sat up. _Not now._ He needed to get up and find something to do to keep his mind off of it _—and try not to sleep._ But he admitted to himself that this was an improvement. _At least she didn't turn into an infested this time._

Stukov got up and dressed. Turning on the holographic interface at his desk, he saw that Marín had sent him a message: there would be another meeting with the leaders of the fleet in the morning and a briefing. She asked him to bring whatever information he had on Drezsera, the other rogue broodmother. _I need to speak to Izsha then. The overseer should have arrived and begun relaying information. I still need to speak to Abathur about defeating the Directorate's psi disruptors as well…_ The sound of the Swarm eroded his sense of self, but Abathur and Izsha were different; they too had their own selves outside the Swarm, as inhuman as they both were. _A little inhumanity may be what I need right now._

* * *

Horner was getting undressed for the night. It had been a long day, and tomorrow promised to be longer. The hostilities had ended, and Nova and Valerian had returned, _But dealing with Mira Han ages me ten years every ten minutes_. Sexual harassment was something he had to deal with as a boss—it rarely happened, but when it did, he took complaints seriously—but he didn't know how to deal with it on a personal level from someone he knew. _And that's exactly what it is If she had been one of my officers and she was doing this to someone else, she would be reprimanded._ _Everything is an innuendo._ Everything. _It's funny when it's not_ you… He was distracted momentarily by brushing his teeth. And then there was Nova—another problematic relationship, but only if it was unwanted. _Is it a thing? Are we a thing? No, this is a war. There is no_ time _for… things. What I_ should _be thinking about is the meeting tomorrow…_ Horner removed his shirt and started turning down his sheets. The door chimed.

"Aw, hell," he said quietly. "Who is it?"

Silence. Muttering under his breath, Horner opened the door and peered out. No one was there. He walked out into the hall to look down it. Seeing no one, he retreated back inside, the door closing behind him. _Is it malfunctioning?_ He thought _._

"No, it isn't," Nova had appeared behind him in his room. Horner yelped in surprise.

"Sweet mother of the universe, Nova. Don't _do_ that." Nova smirked at him, removing a portable cloaking device from her shoulder. She was dressed in a way that he had never seen her—her long, blonde hair down and wearing a tight-fitting, short, silver dress. In heels she was taller than him. He was stunned by how different—and how beautiful—she looked. Less threatening, but all the more unapproachable. She raised her hand. In it was a bottle of bourbon. In the other was a datapad.

"I have business. But I thought we'd need a drink after we discussed it."

"I… don't think that's a good idea, Nova," Horner said, self-consciously sucking in his exposed stomach. "Do you… think it's a good idea?"

"Sure. Why not?" Nova said, sitting on the bed. Horner pulled up a chair to sit near her. "But business first." She handed the datapad to Horner. On it was the UED's plans. The feint at the Dalarian Shipyards, their educated guess about their next movements, that they planned to attack Umoja—and that Valerian had betrayed them. He felt suddenly very tired. He didn't know how to play it now. The fleet needed to know what was going on, but Valerian couldn't know that they were onto him. _And could we even tell Stukov? He would_ kill _Valerian._ Horner looked up at Nova.

"I'll take that drink now."

* * *

Stukov made his way through the leviathan. Traversing it was not like walking through a normal ship. There were rooms and corridors, but they barely resembled either of those descriptors. They were more like organs, each one a space separated by function and connected by narrow, intestine-like hallways. He had not remembered feeling revulsion the first time he boarded, but he had been glad to have been anywhere but _Skygeirr_ , and he had been hardened and dehumanized by his incarceration and torture. Now, the way the corridor moved with him as he walked through it made him uneasy. As he entered the control chamber, Izsha uncoiled herself from the ceiling, dropping down to his level. She had been waiting for him. As she wound down from the ceiling, she knotted her taloned arms across her chest and smiled at him in her cat-like way, her eyes narrowing as she bowed to him slightly in deference.

"Welcome aboard, Admiral. I have been expecting you."

Stukov was aware that Izsha behaved differently towards him than she had Kerrigan. She had been respectful to the Queen of Blades but cold. He assumed that this was due to the cruelty of Kerrigan's first incarnation (or that her second incarnation had been cruel to her just not while he was around; he found this less likely since Kerrigan clearly cared very little what he thought of her), and that Izsha had never gotten over it. As a man he would have been revolted by her, but as a zerg he treated her like a well-behaved child. _An Ariel to Abathur's Caliban_ , he thought. His politeness and encouragement were rewarded by her quickness to obey and her trust.

"The overseer has just completed its scan. Would you like me to connect to it and interpret the results?"

"If you please, Izsha, yes."

"I am connecting to it now. Just a moment."

Izsha's eyes dulled as her attention was pulled elsewhere. But abruptly her posture shifted. She pulled herself upright and straightened her talons—a gesture of unease.

"Izsha… is something wrong?"

"The overseer has found no trace of Drezsera's brood. If they were there, they are not there now."

"What? But Zagara's intel was only hours old when we received it. How could an entire brood move that quickly?"

"I do not know. Shall I have the overseer continue to scan nearby systems?"

"No, recall it. They could have jumped anywhere." _Much like my son_. "I will have to inform our allies of this—and Zagara. If they are on the move, they may know that Zagara surveilled them… and that she sent me to purge them. Drezsera may try to strike back."

"Attacking Zagara is illogical." The Swarm is stable under Zagara's rule."

"Yes, but as you know…" Stukov said, tracing half a strand of DNA in the air, "Sequences. Survival of the fittest. The zerg are concerned with the fitness of the next generation above all else. Drezsera most likely believes herself to be fitter than Zagara to lead. A confrontation may be inevitable. Zagara admitted to me that even _she_ thought Drezsera may be her superior."

"Superior intellect or sequences do not always mean a zerg will rule. If they did, my Admiral would lead the Swarm."

"That is kind, but not true. I am not even fully zerg. I have no claim to lead them." Izsha seemed distraught at this, pulling back towards the ceiling.

"Not zerg? But, Admiral, you…"

"But what, Izsha?" He said teasingly. "You know I'm not…"

"You have been spending more time with the humans," Izsha said, her voice almost sounding hurt. Stukov wished he had kept his mouth shut. "I can see it is changing you. You speak more and differently, you use your hands for emphasis, your face shows your emotions, and you do not spend as much time on the _Leviathan_." _With me, she means. I'm going to have to be more careful with Izsha. She's the most human of all of them. I don't want to lose her._

"Does this mean you are not as zerg as you lead us to believe?"

"Izsha, I have not been trying to deceive you. I have been experiencing… symptoms… of my humanity reasserting itself."

"Symptoms?"

"Like what you described… and more."

"Do you know what is causing them? Do they disturb you?"

"I'm not really sure what is causing them… but no, I'm not _disturbed_ by them…"

"I would like to remind the Admiral that it was the humans that held him against his will and tortured him…"

"Izsha I…"

"And it was the Queen of Blades that accepted him and made him part of the Swarm—and Zagara would have let him remain!"

"I _know_ that, Izsha. But it's more complicated than that, and for now if I wish to successfully communicate with them, I have to let it happen. And that means not lingering on the _Leviathan_ and merging with the Swarm. There was already an… incident… because I let the Swarm get the better of me."

"An incident?" Izsha said, seemingly worried. She lowered herself back down towards him. "Perhaps you should… elaborate."

"Maybe later, Izsha. I must speak to Abathur."

"Abathur has made progress on the adjustments to Grellna's brood, but he has not given me a recent report. This is normal for him."

"Yes, yes, it is, that piece of…"

"If you're going to speak to him about Grellna's brood, you should also speak to him about your symptoms. He may know some way of alleviating them."

"He may…"

Stukov sighed. She was right, in a way, but he didn't want them alleviated. He thought of another question that needed an answer, but he didn't want to ask it. He would see where their conversation led.

Izsha nodded and silently retreated back into the leviathan, her eyes on him as she did. _She seems… disappointed in me? Jealous? She accuses_ me _of acting more human, but my absence has made her act peculiarly as well._ Stukov analyzed why this would be so. _Perhaps she is a reflection of me. I'm having difficulty, and so she is as well. Or she is lonely. Abathur may not be enough company. What am I saying? He's no company_ at all.

Even when he was deep in the Swarm, he did not like going to the spawning pools. The sounds were unpleasant, and even as a newly-freed infested, he could smell the acrid scent of the zerg here if nowhere else. Stukov scanned the immense deck looking for Abathur's skulking black form. He saw no one other than a few lounging zerglings. They crowded towards him as he entered like a pack of dogs. They looked different. Their skin was grey, and they had the bud of an extra limb. _They look primal. Abathur's production may already be underway._ Stukov shooed the zerglings away.

"Abathur! Show yourself."

No answer. He could sense him nearby—and his annoyance at being interrupted.

"Abathur, we need to discuss your modifications. I need to report on our plan to keep our brood from being neutralized by psi disruptors."

Slowly, Abathur emerged from one of the spawning pools, gently piercing through its skin-like meniscus, trying not to break it. Once free, he scuttled towards Stukov.

"Speak quickly. Delicate operation in progress."

"Have you resolved the replication error in the primal zerg samples?"

"Yes. Sample corrupted. Recreated DNA and RNA from primal zerg specimens with devolved zergling tissues." _So that's what they were._

"How long until you can produce what we need?"

"Production unnecessary. Changes will be released as virus. Conquered brood will be infected. Complete transformation in twelve hours."

"Excellent, Abathur. Well done," he paused, "Will you… need to infect me as well?"

"No. RNA and DNA fix will not help Stukov. Healing ability a problem. Unstable zerg DNA also a problem. Infestation will not allow infection to take hold and transform Stukov."

"Then how will I be made immune to the psi disruptors?"

"I am unable to produce biological immunity. Recommend technology-based immunity. Shielding. Humans or protoss may be better able to help."

 _Abathur admitting defeat. Interesting. At least he is not too proud to lie and put me in danger. That is one strength of the zerg—instinctual honesty. Lies undermine the communal nature of the Swarm._ But he reflected that they could still produce subterfuge by omission or misdirection.

"They have already suggested that I be fitted for a CMC. I suppose I could look into that. There may be a way to shield me with armor."

"Sufficient solution if possible. Pathogen dispersal already underway. Must observe and regulate." Abathur took a few steps back from him.

"Abathur, wait, I… have a few questions."

"Not much time. Must return to task."

"It will be just a moment. What do you think would cause me to have, eh, behavioral anomalies?"

"Please specify."

"I… have been falling asleep… dreaming. I've been experiencing… emotional outbursts…"

Abathur steepled his claws in front of him, pondering what this could mean.

"Intriguing. Context?"

"I think it is connected to increased contact with other humans."

"Subliminal psionic bleed possible. Pheremones. Slight possibility of healing abilities causing temporary incremental remission of infestation due to proximity to terrans."

"Interesting. I had not thought of the last one…"

"Will run tests. Come back later." Abathur turned to leave. Stukov scrambled to get the courage to ask his last question.

"One more thing…" Abathur turned around slowly, flattening himself slightly. It was his "annoyed" posture. "Two minutes, Abathur. Please…"

"Speak. Now."

"Fine. I need to know if there are any passive infection vectors for my infestation."

"Define passive."

"Through casual contact."

"Skin-to-skin contact is not an infection vector unless willed. Would impede minor tasks if uncontrolled. Virus in saliva would impede digestion in emergency situations. Blood is an infection vector. Treatment possible within narrow timeframe with Stukov's antigen."

"There are no other passive infection vectors?"

"No. No other passive vectors." Abathur began to back away again, clearly uninterested in continuing. But Stukov didn't get the information he wanted; Abathur was too far removed from humanity to understand what he was insinuating.

"What about _intimate_ contact."

"Define 'intimate.'"

"Nevermind." That was not a conversation he wanted to have with Abathur. The spider-like zerg gave him his version of a shrug and began walking away once more, but then stopped suddenly, straightening back to his full height. Stukov could tell he was thinking. He scuttled back over, stopping so close to him that Stukov felt the need to step back.

"Seminal fluid not an infection vector. Would impede reproduction. Swarm thrives on mutation and random gene combination. Infested terrans sterile. Dead end. Constructs like Queen of Blades and Stukov virile. Species memory recalls Overmind hoped Stukov would mate with Queen of Blades. Personalities incompatible."

Stukov was repulsed by the thought. _Surely not_.

"Incompatible? Of _course_ we were. She was a baby—and clearly very taken with Raynor. It never even occurred to me."

"Apparent age irrelevant for functionally immortal constructs. Monogamy also irrelevant for optimum hereditary vigor. If Queen of Blades not ascended, outcome perhaps different."

"No. No, it wouldn't have been," Stukov said, beginning to become annoyed. But in the back of his mind he knew that might not have been true. After Amon was defeated, if Kerrigan had stayed and not become a xel'naga, he probably would have remained with her. The loneliness might have gotten the better of them. And if the Swarm had wanted them to be together, they would have been. The thought that the Swarm once regarded them as a breeding pair and had hoped he would sire a race of zerg monstrosities revolted him. He now remembered why he rarely spoke to Abathur and why he could never fully be part of the Swarm.

"Have you mated with a human?"

"What? No. And that is none of your business," he said, shocked out of his disgust by the gall of the question. He was surprised by what he said, but then he realized he shouldn't have been. Abathur gave no thought to how anything he said would be received.

"Will you mate with him or her here? Observing human mating instructional." Stukov had finally had enough.

"Abathur, I'm about to break each and every one of your spindly…" Stukov felt Abathur stab at his mind. He had been goading him to anger on purpose so his guard would go down. _I take that back. He's_ learning. Abathur plucked Marín's name from his thoughts.

"The Umojan Fleet Admiral. Acceptable. Above average intelligence. Intelligence offsets reduced chance in progeny of advantageous mutations and psionic powers…"

"Abathur."

"Brood optimal size at least four for greatest chance of passing on psionic genes."

"Abathur, you're getting ahead of yourself. I already _have_ four children. I need another child like I need another _hole in my face_. And that's not the point of…"

"Admiral Stukov has a human brood? Was never appraised."

"Have you not been paying attention? He was serving as a ghost aboard the _Kuznetsov_ and the UED used him to _blackmail_ me."

"Progeny possess psionic abilities? Information critical. Should have been informed."

"Why? Would you have gone to rescue him yourself?" Stukov said, his voice dripping in sarcasm. Abathur wavered slightly, processing this information. Stukov had thought Abathur had already known, and if he had known that he didn't, he wouldn't have said anything. But he was pleased that he had rattled him in return. _Of all the zerg, he's the only one that I would categorize as an "asshole."_

"Your other children are telepaths?"

"Not that I know of…"

"Your healing factor and proof of hereditary mutation increases chances…"

"Hereditary mutation? I'm not a telepath."

"No. But Stukov does carry a mutation. Healing factor of great interest to the Swarm."

"But you _gave_ it to me."

"Talent not given. Enhanced. Subject Stukov had passive, uncontrolled psionic powers with healing focus."

"…What?"

"Stukov never noticed accelerated healing? Good health of close family members?"

"Maybe? I was very good at picking up bad habits, but none of them seemed to affect me permanently… My wife had cancer and survived, but I doubt that had anything to do with _me_."

"Swarm able to resurrect Stukov due to healing factor. Mutation preserved brain after death. Intelligence, stratagems, and healing made Stukov attractive to the Swarm."

"Why have you never told me this before?"

"Presumed Stukov would know his biological idiosyncrasies."

"Well, _this_ has been enlightening…"

"Very interested in outcome of Stukov's attempts to spawn."

"I'm not trying to… Don't you have something to devolve somewhere?" Abathur seemed pleased that he had found something to annoy Stukov with. A terrible scream echoed through the chamber.

"Must go. Speak later. Can increase Stukov's desirability if needed."

"What?"

"Heal your face. Minimize arm circumference. Decrease skin pallor. Come back later."

"You could do all that before and you haven't?"

Abathur skittered away without answering. _That slimy son of a bitch_ …

* * *

Morning came too quickly for Marín; she and Vermaak had a night together like they hadn't had in ages. They were both glad the other was safe and that for the moment the war was calm. _Nothing like a brush with death to make you realize what's really important._ But she was cautious about thinking everything was back to normal. _With Oyaleni out, we're equals again. Maybe that's a good thing. But then again maybe it's not._ Working together closely was a double-edged sword.

Like always, Marín was early to her office, getting paperwork out of the way—and today cleaning up. Her office was in disarray because of the mutiny. Her backup datapad had been cracked (despite having been in a drawer the whole time), her chair was missing a wheel, and somehow she was missing all three of her styluses. She put in a requisition for it all, but with the starboard hangar having been vented, she realized she may have to wait.

The door to her office opened, and Barre leaned in.

"Admiral Stukov has arrived early, Admiral Marín," Barre said quietly, burring his Rs and mimicking Stukov's accent.

"Barre… don't," Marín said, sighing and fighting a smile. It was a good impression.

Marín stood and straightened her jacket as she walked out of her office. Stukov stood by the war table in another rankless Umojan uniform, upright in his bearing, his infested arm tucked behind him and his other hand resting on the war table.

"Good morning, Renata. Am I interrupting? I'm a bit early…"

"No, no. Everyone else should be here any moment now."

"I've been through decontam so much… I have stripping down and scrubbing up down to a science. It's taking me half the time to get through." Marín chuckled.

"Maybe we should have Dr. Laurent time you. Make a game out of it?"

"I don't think that would amuse your good doctor."

"There's nothing that does!" Barre said.

Renata looked Stukov up and down. Marín felt the tingling and warmth at the base of her skull that she knew to be Stukov's telepathic presence as it gently washed around her, questioning the nature of her attention.

"You look like you feel better."

"I do. I… got some sleep." Marín was confused by his response.

"Sleep? I didn't think you slept."

"I… normally don't."

"Is that good or bad? Do you want Dr. Laurent to…"

"That will not be necessary. Abathur will be keeping an eye on me. Besides… I _do_ feel more…"

"Human?"

"Yes… yes, I think so." Marín felt glad for him. Getting in touch with his human side—no matter how—would help him. But on the other hand, it was troubling. Did this mean he was losing power? Would he gain control of his human side only to lose control of the zerg?

Marín's train of thought was interrupted by the lift opening and Vermaak stepping onto the bridge.

"Admirals," he said, with unusual jocularity. "When does this party start?"

"Barre, have you heard from the others?"

"Horner has already landed. Valerian is _en route_. Haven't heard from Artanis. But, you know, they can just…" Barre snapped his fingers.

Horner emerged onto the bridge. He seemed uncharacteristically tired and down.

"Good morning, everyone. Glad to see everyone back in action…" Horner seemed to regret saying it almost immediately when he saw the look on Vermaak's face. Oyaleni had been Vermaak's superior, and they had been friends.

"Karax has signaled that Artanis and Vorazun are ready for transport."

"Tell them we're ready."

Vorazun and Artanis materialized next to the war table.

"Fleet Admiral Marín! Admiral Stukov! Lieutenant General Vermaak! It is good to see that you are well and that Admiral Marín is in command again!" Artanis said, his straightforward good nature something that Marín had come to respect.

"Thank you, Artanis."

The door to the lift whisked open again. Valerian, his cape swishing behind him, stepped out.

"Sorry, everyone. It was not my intention to be 'fashionably late…'" Barre rolled his eyes. Stukov's posture tightened. Even Horner, whom Marín thought was his friend, seemed irritated by his presence. Only the protoss, seemed inscrutable in their reaction. She understood Stukov's reaction—and Barre's—but Horner's she was confused by. _Maybe he's just tired_.

"Are we ready to begin?" Marín asked hopefully.

"Yes, let's," Valerian said with smug cheerfulness. Ahlberg and Barre left the bridge, leaving the highest ranking officers—Marín, Vermaak, Stukov, Horner, Valerian, Artanis, and Vorazun—alone.

"I'd like to start with a follow up to an announcement I made earlier… Repairs are ongoing, but the _Uhuru_ and other ships affected by the mutiny should be fully operational in forty-eight terran standard hours. But before we get under way… I would like to have a ceremony for the crew of the _Vrede_ tomorrow evening at 1900. Everyone is invited. It will be held in the port weapons array with a reception afterward in the port hangar."

"We'll all be there, of course," Horner said. "And I'm hoping we can honor their memory moving forward… by retaking Tarsonis and Tyrador."

"A second to that, Admiral Horner," Vermaak said.

"Then let's get to it… what's the status of the Umojan Fleet, Admiral Marín?"

"As I said, the fleet will be operational again in forty-eight hours… I have spoken to Admiral Calvino and everyone seems to be on the same page concerning our leadership. Vermaak has taken over for Oyaleni's duties. Vermaak?"

"The inner-ship conflict roughed up my soldiers… as did the attack on Grellna's brood. We're down some shadowguards; Admiral Stukov's son and our Directorate prisoners escaped during the mutiny, and I've got a team out tracking them." Valerian's eyebrows raised at this as if he were considering something. Horner looked sideways at him. Marín had no idea what either man was thinking.

"That's… unfortunate, Admiral Stukov. We worked hard to get him here, and I know that was part of our agreement…" Horner said.

"My agreement with the Umojans, yes. But that agreement has been satisfied. My son's actions are his own. I would have rather him be here in relative safety, but the fault lies in the mutineers, and my son is his own man. He's alive. That's all I can ask for. The shadowguards can hopefully keep it that way."

"We'll do our best, Admiral. We have had no recent losses, but there was a small skirmish on the _Fuerza_ , and some of the marines there had to be taken into custody. I've spoken to the higher-ups on in Nova Lisboa. They want the perps off our ships. I'm inclined to agree. A transport has already taken the lower-ranked soldiers from the ship. But we'll be ready when we leave the _Beynac_ ," Vermaak said.

"Is… Oyaleni still aboard?" Marín asked.

"Yeah, I thought you might wanna talk to her before we packed her up."

"Damn right I do," Marín said.

"The Terran Republic fleet stands ready," Horner began, "We've added Mira Han to our ranks. Her fleet's a little rag-tag, but they have a lot of tricks up their sleeves… a lot of them probably, uh, illegal, but war's war, and nobody cares out here… hopefully."

"I was successful in liberating many of the Terran Republic ships stationed at the Dalarian Shipyards. And I've been able to call more Moebius ships from the outer rim," Valerian said. "We're ready at Admiral Horner's command…"

"Grellna's fleet has been integrated into what was left of my brood. Abathur has developed a pathogen that will infect her brood with primal zerg DNA, rendering them unaffected by psi disrupters. This process is already underway. But I will still be vulnerable. Abathur suggests that I seek some 'technological' work around. Vermaak has warned me I should be wearing armor on surface missions… There may be some way to modify a CMC that would shield me from… disruption."

"I'll have Jansa get on that."

"What about the other brood?" Valerian said, "There were two, am I correct?"

"Yes," Stukov said, bristling. Valerian's eyes narrowed at him.

"Then what of it?"

"Has the overseer returned, Admiral?" Marín said.

"It has. It could not find them. If Drezsera was ever at those coordinates, she is not there now."

"Then… you still do not have a fleet?" Valerian said.

"Grellna's brood will be adequate. More than adequate. She had overbred her hive to excess. The planet she inhabited was close to destruction from her attempts to mine there. Another brood would be optimal—and it would satisfy our agreement with Zagara. But it is not necessary for now to pursue the other broodmother."

"And your position has nothing to do with Gregory's escape?"

Marín was surprised that Valerian was trying to provoke Stukov. Valerian knew that he already had reason to kill him, and it annoyed Marín that he would talk to him that way. Especially after all he had done for the fleet—and her. _But Stukov can damn well take care of himself._ Stukov turned slowly to Valerian, his face a stony scowl.

"What are you insinuating, Valerian?"

"Why would you not want to go after Drezsera's brood? Would that not make you more powerful? Would that not help our war effort?"

"It would. But the time to strike is now," Stukov said, balling up his human fist. "Finding and attacking Drezsera would take much time—time we do not have."

"It just… seems like you're not putting you're all into this."

Marín had enough.

"Putting his all into it? Were you not there at Tyrador when he almost died switching sides to protect us? When he almost died saving the _Vrede_? He was also gravely injured finding and securing Grellna's brood but still made it to the _Uhuru_ to _perform a goddamn spacewalk_ to end the mutiny. If Stukov isn't already 'putting his all' into this war, I'm not sure what you're expecting. And what exactly have _you_ done, Valerian? Maybe a tenth of that."

It was Stukov's turn to look smug.

"Please, my friends. Let us focus on the matter at hand. We must formulate a plan to push the Directorate out of Terran Republic territory," Vorazun said. _The protoss. Always the voice of reason_ …

Horner trotted out what information he had, and Marín and Stukov formulated a strategy. They would go back to Tarsonis and force the UED out. From there, they would force the Directorate to fight a war on two fronts and close the gap on Tyrador. It was what they had discussed, but now in more detail and with more input from Stukov. His forces would be the first salvo on Tarsonis. Marín sensed his eagerness to do so was born out of his want for revenge. This troubled her. _Maybe that's something we can "talk" about later. If he doesn't let some of these things go, he's going to blow up again._

The meeting ended, and Horner retreated to his ship a little more quickly than usual. The protoss left, but she, Valerian, and Marín remained. Valerian seemed a bit chattier than usual, which Marín was annoyed by. _He almost got me killed. Why does he think I want to engage in small talk with him?_

"I was going to ask you, Fleet Admiral… how closely to you follow the Umojan opera scene?"

"Somewhat closely… why?"

"Do you remember an opera singer by the name of Rie Quincampoix?"

"She was the Queen of the Night a few years ago, yes."

"Really fantastic singer," He leaned on the war table, making himself comfortable. "You know, my mother funded her education at the Nova Lisboa salon… her father was a friend of the family."

"Was he now?" she said flatly. Valerian launched into a dissertation on the merits of Quincampoix as an opera star, and Marín half-listened politely. It was a subject she would normally be interested in, but she would rather not discuss it with Valerian. Stukov was lingering as if he wanted to talk to her, but he gave up and left. This annoyed Marín further. _It may have been something important. I guess he'll send me a message. Goddamn it, Valerian._ Valerian watched Stukov leave. As he did, his posture changed. He stood up straight and looked her in the eye suspiciously.

"You two… have become… close?"

"Close? I wouldn't say that," Marín said carefully. She wasn't sure where the conversation was going. "We've been through a lot the past few days…"

"Hm, he seems to like you."

"Well, it's good that he likes _someone_. Otherwise, he may not stay," she said, reminding him that he was the reason he was not on as good of terms with the Terran Republic as he was with the Umojan Protectorate.

"A fair point," he said with a tight-lipped smile. "But I'd be careful. He seems to be getting… attached?"

"Yes, maybe we're becoming friends. How awful."

Valerian shrugged and walked slowly to the lift.

"Just… a thought I guess."

 _Yeah, just "a thought." A thought to sow discord and disunity._ Marín felt overwhelming disgust for the man. _You can't trust anything he says._

* * *

On the lift from the _Uhuru's_ bridge, Stukov heard Izsha's voice in his mind.

 _Admiral, Abathur has signaled me that he is ready to commence your metamorphosis._

 _Already? He seems overeager. Will you try to ascertain if he has something sinister in mind? And calling it a "metamorphosis" seems… an overstatement if it is a simple cosmetic augmentation._

 _I will try, my Admiral._

 _Thank you, Izsha._

But he would know soon regardless. As he took his shuttle to the leviathan, the thought of changing himself physically made him nervous. Abathur wasn't human and he wouldn't know really what Stukov had looked like before he was infested. Stukov also thought that his offer could also be some sort of ruse to get him "under the knife" as it were and change him in a way that more suited Abathur—more zerg-minded, more powerful, and maybe more docile. But, he reminded himself, he was thinking of Abathur as a human. It would be out of character for him to engage in complicated subterfuge. He had bred a type of zerg that Zagara had not asked him to develop, but he had not tried to usurp her. He had done only what he thought was good for the zerg—his own safety was not even a priority. Abathur could not be selfish in that way. He only went against Zagara's wishes when their ideas of what was good for the zerg as a race diverged. Undermining him would not benefit Abathur, Stukov reasoned. _I allow Abathur do whatever he pleases. Changing our agreement drastically would not make sense._

Stukov made his way through the leviathan. He did not stop for Izsha, and she followed him as he walked. Her worry was palpable through their telepathic link.

"Admiral, you're here… quickly. You said Abathur seemed overeager, but you seem so yourself."

"I merely want it out of the way," Stukov said, trying to soothe her. She seemed very hurt by his want to be more human. "Do you sense any malice in what he's doing?"

"No, but I think you are right in believing it will be more than what you asked for."

Stukov sighed.

"But not anything harmful?"

"Not that I can ascertain, Admiral."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to see…"

"Admiral… I… advise against this course of action."

Stukov stopped.

"Why, Izsha? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No," Izsha paused for a moment, rubbing her talons together. "I am afraid the transformation will cut you off from the zerg," she said.

"Izsha, I'm not going to leave you because I look more human. You worry too much. Keep working on readying our troops. In a few hours, I will speak to you again, yes?"

"Yes, Admiral."

Stukov walked further through the leviathan, leaving Izsha hanging alone. He was now feeling some trepidation. _Am I sure that harming me would not benefit Abathur? He is a wildcard. His alliegence is to the zerg and its future—not to me. If changing me doesn't benefit the future of the zerg, he wouldn't do it. It seems, for now, our goals are aligned but our purposes different._ _I want to be able to liase more efficiently with the Umojans and…_ he didn't verbalize the thought, but he wished not to inspire revulsion in the Fleet Admiral. _Abathur's true intentions are unknown to me, other than wishing me to "spawn…" Which is ridiculous. I would not let that happen._

He made his way to the spawning pools. Uncharacteristically, Abathur was waiting for him.

"You are here. We will proceed. Follow me."

Stukov followed Abathur past the leagues of spawning pools that took up most of the immense deck, picking his way carefully around the lakes of thick, pungent liquid. In each he saw the embryonic starts of zerglings, hydralisks, and other zerg, small and transparent, their limbs unformed but their nervous systems causing them to twitch sporadically. Some pools were obviously experimental; the suspension was a different color and they smelled odd. Abathur lead him to a small pool that was set away from the rest. It was just wider and taller than Stukov but deep enough for him to be submerged. Unlike the other pools, it was a dark, threatening red, and a mucosal layer stretched in a web across it. The smell caused him to recoil. It was unmistakably similar to human blood, thick with an acrid iron scent.

"Abathur… Is this really necessary?"

"Human refinements require spawning pool. Only efficient way. Undress and enter."

Stukov eyed the disgusting, undulating pit and sighed, starting to slowly peel off his clothes.

"Let's get us both on the same page, Abathur. I want to look more human. That means augmenting my arm, my skin, my eyes, my face, and my back— _nothing_ in addition to that. If I find out you have done something _else_ to me that I _did not ask for_ , I _will_ kill you. Or worse, I will take you back to Zagara and let _her_ kill you. Do you understand?"

Abathur was quiet for a moment.

"Yes. Enter and we will begin."

Stukov regarded the spawning pool disdainfully, dipping his toes in. To him, the mucosal layer felt like the skin of an uncooked sausage—the kind made of sheep's intestine. The smell wafted up to him and he gagged. He realized his sense of smell was starting to normalize as an effect of regaining his humanity incrementally. _What a time for_ that _to happen_.

"This is disgusting."

"Cannot be done any other way."

"So you've told me."

He covered his nose and stepped in, breaching the skin on the pool.

"Lay down. Entire body must be submerged."

"Yes, yes. I'm working up to it."

Finally sitting down, the liquid caused him to retch. He was used to the zerg, but not this. As Stukov started to lie back, something grabbed his dorsal claws and began pulling him into the pool. Instinctually, he struggled against it. His mind began to panic. Was Abathur going to kill him now? Was all of this just a ruse to get him restrained?

"Do not fight. Restraints are necessary."

A tendril grabbed his neck and pulled him under the surface of the pool. Others grasp him around his wrist, waist, and ankles. The mucosal layer regenerated above him.

 _Breathe._ Abathur thought to him.

 _How?_ Stukov answered. Abathur didn't reply. Stukov didn't need to breathe, and every human instinct he had told him not to open his mouth and not to breathe in the disgusting liquid.

 _Breathe. Sedation necessary_.

Stukov willed himself to override his instinct and his disgust and finally took a deep breath. It was not as awful as he thought it would be. He couldn't taste it, and it had an analgesic quality, warming his throat and lungs. The warming sensation spread down his body as he continued to breathe it in. He began to lose consciousness. There was a dull ache in his arm, and it felt like something was scratching at his face. His whole body tingled. The entire pool pulsed quietly, as if it had a heartbeat. And though he was on the leviathan, he could not hear the Swarm. Stukov drifted into a trance-like state.

Stukov's mind surged like he had been hit with a stimpack. He became aware that time had passed. Thrashing, he pulled himself up, the tendrils that had gripped him and pulled him down were now feeble and desiccated. He grabbed them off himself as he clawed his way blindly out of the pool. Once out of it and lying prone on the deck, he vomited a black sludge. Coming to himself, he looked back at the pool. It was now a brackish black and putrid, smelling like decay. He stood shakily, covered in black, foul-smelling ichor. Despite this, he realized he felt better than he had felt in a long time. He was energized and in less pain. Raising his infested arm, he found it was lighter, shorter, and more human. While his fingers still ended in claws, Abathur had given him his pinkie back, and he had recognizably human features—knuckles, nailbeds, and an obvious thumb. His arm was no longer oozing creep, and though the skin was still rough, sinewy and chitinous, it would fit under a uniform jacket. His palm still had an orifice, but it was smaller and hidden by a flap of skin. He tried to flex the talons on his back and found they weren't there. Looking down at himself, everything else seemed as it was, but his skin was not as grey or green; it was whiter but with more human pinkish undertones. There were visible veins underneath the skin of his human wrist now. He hadn't expected Abathur to go into that much detail. Finally, he felt his left cheek. It was smooth to the touch. There was no gash running down to the bone, only new skin. He moved his jaw, and he felt the muscle flex beneath it.

"It is satisfactory?"

"I suppose. But what have I lost in utility?"

Abathur puffed up with pride.

"Arm returns to full size and utility at will. Number of pain receptors in that region decreased. Excess tissue sloughs off after use. Thirty second refractory period."

Stukov's looked at him askance for using that term. It was possible that he had done something to him in an overzealous and misguided attempt to make him more "attractive" as a mate.

"For the arm?"

"…Yes."

"You mean I can't use it again for thirty seconds?"

"Yes."

"The arm, right?"

"…Yes."

"I realize you speak English because Kerrigan did, and I'm not saying my English is perfect, but you can't take a term that's used in the vernacular for one extremity and append it on another… Even if it makes sense."

"Noted."

Satisfied, he gathered his clothes.

"Anything else I should know?"

"May experience transitory euphoria. Vascular system rerouted. Hormonal levels still stabilizing. Rest suggested."

"I see… thank you, Abathur."

"Admiral." Abathur backed away from him and skittered to a far corner of the deck to busy himself with another spawning pool. Stukov didn't bother to put back on his clothes. He was covered in ichor and smelled awful; he badly needed a shower. _And it's going to take a lot of brushing to get this taste out of my mouth._

As Stukov left Abathur's evolution chamber, Izsha descended from the ceiling of the leviathan behind him.

"Admiral?" She said. He turned to her.

"Yes, Izsha?" Izsha stopped abruptly. She stared at him confusedly, her eyes wandering all over him. It appeared as though she was leering at him, though she of course wasn't; all he could feel from her was curiosity. Stukov realized she probably had never seen him naked—or, for that matter, vulnerable in any way. Most of Abathur's experiments on him had been directly to his arm or incremental—nothing that meant he would be submerged or even incapacitated. _She sees me as a whole—admiral, man, and zerg—with no separation. Because that is how the zerg are. Their function is their form. There is nothing underneath. They just are._

"My eyes are up here, Izsha."

"Oh. Yes, Admiral," she said, returning her gaze to his eyes. "You look very… different."

"Not better?" he said chidingly.

"More human, certainly."

"Do you like it?"

"No."

"Heh. I thought not. What do you need of me, Izsha?"

"Nothing. I wished to inquire about your wellbeing."

"I'm fine, Izsha. Thank you. I… have some cleaning up to do, and then I must attend a funeral aboard the _Uhuru_ …" she crossed her talons and leaned back, a gesture that seemed to belie her disapproval, "…but I will come back after that and we will review our plans. Is that satisfactory, Izsha?"

"Yes, Admiral. Of course."

Stukov left Izsha, feeling her eyes on his back as he walked away.

When he returned to the _Aleksander_ , he spent no time getting into the shower. He stayed there for over thirty minutes, scrubbing the ichor off his skin and out of his hair. When he finally felt like he had gotten rid of the smell and the scum all over him (though he still felt as if there was a film all over his body), he immediately went to the sink to brush his teeth. Stukov stood there in the steam-filled room, scrubbing his teeth, rinsing, and then scrubbing again. As the room cooled, the mirror above the sink cleared. He happened to glance up and took two steps back, startled. It took a few moments to realize the face in the mirror was his. He touched his cheek in disbelief, hardly recognizing himself. He could see the sclera of his eyes again. Stukov's eyes looked like Kerrigan's had, still bright with psionic power, but more human in form with pupils and irises. They were brown when he was human, but now they were an unsettling gold. _But that's better than… whatever you would call what I had before. Now I look less… evil…_ That wasn't all, however. Stukov felt he looked younger, but he couldn't decide why. He looked down at his body. Everything looked normal, though he felt that the hair on his arm, legs, chest, and torso was darker, but it could have been that his skin color had changed. Even so, the effect, he thought, was subtle. He poked at the almost non-existent love handles at his waist. _I should have asked Abathur to do something about these. But that would be more noticeable—and vain._

He wondered what Marín would think. _Would she notice?_ He thought. _Of course she will_ notice… But not, he knew, in the way that he wanted unless she harbored feelings for him as well. _And after what she saw me do…_ _it's doubtful she would_. Stukov stretched his back as he looked at himself in the mirror, rubbing his hands across his flanks. He felt different—more sensitive; _More… alive?_ Unbidden, a fantasy arose in his mind. He thought of Marín's hands all over him, her short nails lightly tracing down his chest and his abdomen. He imagined them in bed, her on her back with her legs around him…

 _Stop. She's your ally. She's an officer. And so are you. You need to get a grip on yourself…_ He looked down at his hands. He realized he had been touching himself _…which is a poor choice of words…_ But the act had answered some questions. It was the first time he'd felt the urge to masturbate in many years. Even when he had awoken from the sexually charged dreams, he didn't feel the need for release—just frustration at not being able to be close to Marín. Now he knew it was possible for him to be fully intimate with her. He had been scared before he would somehow infest her; he wondered if it was what Abathur had done to him or his fear about infestation that had kept him from it before. _He did say my hormones were still "stabilizing" and that I would feel "euphoria." Maybe this is part of that._ Stukov wished he could rest, but that was not a possibility. If he did, he might be late or miss Augustin's funeral, and he wanted to be there for Marín. He dressed quickly, for the first time without having to rip the sleeve of the black shirt he pulled over his head. He felt better—not disgusting—and more comfortable. The short sleeve was tight on his bicep ( _If you can call it that anymore…_ ) of his left arm, but it wasn't sticking to him. He pulled the shirt away from his chest—no creep. After putting on some sweatpants ( _There's no reason to put on a uniform to go to the_ Uhuru _; Dr. Laurent still insists I go through the decontamination chamber_ ).

On the way to the _Uhuru,_ he tried to clear his mind but couldn't. He ran through what he would say to Marín when she saw him. There was no way he could tell her the real reason for his transformation. He had decided to tell her that after their talk he had chosen to augment his form to look more human— _Feeling human is part of_ being _human. I'll tell her I thought talking might not be enough_. And it stood to reason that people would react to him more favorably if he didn't look like his face was rotting off and that he was going to get creep on everything.

Stepping naked through decontam, the water was colder to him now. _Oversensitive. I hope this passes quickly_. He rinsed off the decontamination fluid and made his way into the infrared room. Basking in the light and heat, he lingered. It felt like bathing in the sun. _Why would Abathur do this? Is this temporary, or is this the new normal?_ He didn't know, but he was beginning to think there might be some positives to it. _I should try to drink something… or beg a cigar off someone. What he has done may allow me to enjoy what I used to at least in some small way._ Entering the last chamber, he looked warily at the medical scanner, not wanting to get too close and accidentally trigger it. He knew that would most likely not happen, but he didn't want to be locked in there and miss the funeral. Stukov put his hand on the black computer terminal on the wall of the chamber. His name came up and he was granted limited access.

"Computer, call Dr. Laurent." After a few moments, Dr. Laurent appeared on the screen in the medbay. She was far away on the other side of the room and didn't look up when the call came through; she was busying attending to a man injured, he surmised, in the mutiny.

"Yes?"

"I'm in decontam. Let me in?"

Dr. Laurent didn't answer but picked her datapad off the patient's bedside table and keyed in a sequence. Stukov heard the door unlock with an audible click.

"Thank you, Dr.—" The line went dark before he could finish.

Stukov entered the dressing chamber and picked out a uniform. It was then he noticed his duffle bag stuffed under the bench in the room. He hadn't recognized it earlier. _Ah. Marín must have left it here for me. She remembered._ Then a thought occurred to him. It would be appropriate for him to wear his dress uniform now as a sign of respect for Augustin. And, he thought, it looked nice on him. He fantasized about sweeping her up off her feet and carrying her away, but he reminded himself that it was a funeral. _This is not a social event. Let her see you, but for god's sake, don't hit on her._ Again, he would have to watch himself. Using his sleeve, he polished the buttons and his shoes. He carefully put on the shirt and jacket, trying not to burst any of the seams on the sleeve—his arm was still larger on his left than his right. To his surprise, they both fit without a problem. He buttoned the jacket, then grabbed it by the seam at the bottom to straighten it, pushing out his chest and standing straight. For the first time in a long time, he was somewhat pleased with what he saw. _I at least look like a man now_. He dusted off the cap and put it on his head. What he saw now in the mirror was bittersweet. He had worn the uniform to funerals, parties—his wedding. All of that came back to him in a disjointed rush. He took a deep breath, realizing how keyed up his emotions were. _Keep it together, Alexei._

He made his way quickly down the hallway, realizing he was almost late. He was one of the the last people to enter the crowded weapons array. He looked around for Marín. Head and shoulders above the crowd, he saw Artanis and Vorazun at the other end of the bay. Both were wearing different, more elaborate, and most likely ceremonial versions of their armor. Artanis's was much the same but shinier and taller; he wore what looked like a white silk robe underneath. Vorazun was wearing a long, sheer jacket, a larger pauldron that covered more of her shoulder, and a delicate, ornate, woven circlet and gold accents in her blunt nerve cords. Artanis turned and nodded to him, most likely sensing his psionic energy as he got close. He had a choice which side of the torpedo launching tube he would stand on and decided to go to them. Marín certainly would be nearby.

Horner peeked out from around Artanis and scanned the room, looking past him several times before Stukov raised his hand. Horner balked when he finally saw him but waved him over. Beside Horner, who was wearing a ceremonial version of his uniform with included a long jacket and a capelet that, to Stukov, made him look very silly, was a woman he didn't recognize with a red eye. She was dressed in a simple but very tight black dress. And on the other side of her was Valerian, in his finery as he always was, but wearing a bunch of medals— _That he probably didn't earn_. _Backwater idiot._ When he got closer, Valerian eyed him suspiciously, and the woman looked him up and down in a way he wasn't sure he liked. Stukov nodded to her and Valerian and then stood between Artanis and Horner.

"What happened?" Horner said quietly.

"Nothing. I'm fine. Abathur… wanted to try something."

"It seems your Abathur was successful," Vorazun cut in. "You look well, Admiral."

"Thank you, Vorazun."

"Nice suit," Artanis said lightly.

Stukov chuckled.

"And you, Artanis."

Of course, there was someone missing. Stukov leaned over to Horner.

"Where is Fleet Admiral Marín?"

"I think there's a procession. I don't think she'll join us until the reception," Horner said, pointing down into the chasm of the torpedo tube.

Stukov looked over the railing and down at the torpedo track below. There was space to walk on either side, and he noticed that a small podium had been setup beside the track near its exit to space. The lights dimmed slightly, and a humming that he recognized as the magnetic systems of the track started from underneath the floor. Six Umojan naval officers appeared, three on either side, from access doors somewhere below. The first on the far side—on the same side as the podium—was Marín, followed by Vermaak and Ahlberg. On the other side were three people he didn't know but vaguely recognized. _They must be from the_ Vrede. All were in white versions of their usually grey uniform. More than that he couldn't distinguish from his vantage point. The coffin, a retrofitted torpedo draped with the Umojan flag, appeared on the track from somewhere inside the ship. Marín and the others walked with it solemnly as it slowly made its way to the end of the tube, acting symbolically as pallbearers. Stukov frowned slightly, making a grim observation: _Oyaleni would have wanted to be here. It's too bad she made the decisions she did, or she would be._

Stukov had attended many funerals in his career but memorializing someone of this high a rank was a rarity. _I can't think of a time I attended one for the admiralty. They usually are so far behind enemy…_ But his mind stopped and he felt suddenly cold and dizzy. He put his hands on the railing and gripped it, the leather of the glove on his right-hand squeaking with the strain. He realized he had attended a funeral like this—his own. The realization made everything go sideways. For the first time, he wondered what it was like. Apparently, it had been broadcast. Reeves had brought it up when they met on the _Kuznetsov_. As he watched Marín walk, he wondered what people had thought and said about him. _It was probably rushed. If it was a state funeral, that means he didn't let on what I had done and how I had died. If they had known that I had been killed by an ally, questions would have been asked. No one but a few Gerard trusted would have seen my body and my injuries. Even fewer would have known the circumstances of my demise._ _I'm sure few words were said, and I was hurriedly committed to space._ A heaviness pulled at his stomach. He felt vaguely nauseated—and while the leviathan disgusted him, it was a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. He imagined his family watching an abbreviated version from home, his death probably seeming sudden and meaningless—as all the deaths in the UED's war for domination ultimately were.

"Are you all right, Stukov?" Horner said quietly. Stukov released the railing and slowly stepped back.

"Yes, I'm fine."

The coffin stopped just short of the launch tube's exit. Marín walked slowly up to the podium. Stukov imagined dread in her steps.

"Good evening, everyone. We come here today, a few more and many less. We are joined here today by Captain Calvino and his fleet, adding to our ranks, but the mutiny and the Battle of Tyrador took many lives—including some of those aboard the _Vrede_. But many more would have been lost without the heroic evacuation attempt and the sacrifice of Admiral Thierry Augustin…"

Stukov listened to Marín with rapt attention. He knew that no one spoke of him like this at his funeral. No one would speak directly about his death or about his life. Both, he realized, had been ignoble at the end. He had wanted to do something good, but distrust and deception had almost kept it from happening. But in the end it was for naught. Gerard most likely didn't have a funeral—he failed. _Or the Directorate made up some lies about us all being still alive… and the_ Destroyer Fleet _coming here to aid us_. _I wonder_. Here in the Umojan Navy, under Marín, things seemed to have order and were as they should. A selfless, kind, intelligent, and experienced leader, leading a unified (as it was now) fleet, not shying away from the hard duties like honoring a fallen compatriot and mentor.

After her speech, the other pallbearers folded the flag atop the coffin and handed it to Marín. There was a moment of silence for him and the fallen men and women of the _Vrede_ , and then Augustin was committed to space. Stukov sighed heavily. A part of him was glad to be there—it was good to see someone like him honored in death. But he was also glad it was over. The circumstances were very unlike his own, but it still stirred unpleasant memories.

The service adjourned, and all that were present were invited to the port hangar. He would get a chance to see Marin and she him. Not only that, but he did want to speak to her about Augustin and again personally convey his regrets.

Despite the cavernous size of the hangar bay, it was crowded with mourners—from the _Uhuru_ and other ships that had not been involved in the mutiny. The battlecruiser's smaller ships had been moved to the back of the hangar, and tables of the staples of any hastily-prepared military celebration—small sandwiches no one liked, even worse cake, and cheap champagne—were set around atop white-linened tables for anyone to partake. He realized he was being unfair. For all he knew, it was all different than what he was used to in the UED. _And I will never know the difference… It's interesting that five hundred years of separation have produced almost identical traditions._ Idly, he picked up a glass of champagne and studied the bubbles in it. He tentatively drank some. It tasted like nothing. Disappointed, he put it with the empties.

Stukov looked around for Marín, but knew she'd be almost impossible to find due to her stature. Moving through the crowd, he looked for Horner, but couldn't find him either. Finally, he spotted Vorazun and Artanis crowded together next to someone. Winding towards them, he found them giving their condolences to Marín, Vorazun clasping her hand with both of hers.

Up close, Stukov realized Marín's dress uniform stuck a very different silhouette than what he was used to for her. With its straight lines that continued past her hips, it accentuated the curve of her back. When Vorazun turned to walk away, Barre pressed a champagne glass into her hand. She gave him a look that was both "thanks" and "what are you trying to do to me?" Stukov straightened his coat and put his hat under his arm as he walked towards her. She was taking a drink when she saw him, but didn't recognize him, probably mistaking him for a Moebius officer. He stepped forward and extended his hand to her.

"Renata…"

Her eyes snapped up to his when she heard his voice. She dropped her champagne glass. It hit her boot and rolled away from her. She didn't seem to notice.

"Alexei?"

He stepped closer to her, unable to keep a small smile from his face. She put her hand out to touch his cheek and stopped.

"What? What did you…" he took her hand and pressed it gently against his jaw, showing her it was real.

"I had Abathur clean me up a little."

Near him, he sensed a sudden, familiar darkness—it was Vermaak. He hadn't noticed that he was nearby. _No matter. He can be alone in his grief or… whatever he is feeling_. She slowly took her hand away but kept her eyes locked on his.

"Your eyes… they were…brown?"

"Yes… still a little inhuman, but better, no?"

"Yes, much…" She quickly looked him up and down. "Is that your dress uniform?"

"I thought it appropriate for the occasion…"

He saw Vermaak out of the corner of his eye walking towards them. Not wanting to deal with him, he put his arm behind Marín's back and guided her away from the crowd. "But… enough about that. That's not why we're here… how are you doing?"

Marín sighed.

"I think I'm finally dealing with it. The service… I think it was cathartic…. for me and I think for everyone…" she seemed distracted again by the way he looked.

"You look a lot different… Why did you do it?"

"I want to be more human… Looking human is part of that. But you are changing the subject."

"Yes…" They walked in silence for a moment.

"You… were a pallbearer… Was that his wish?"

"Yes. And for me to have the flag."

"You? He… didn't have a wife or…"

"Well, Umojan's don't marry… we have partners. The only formal arrangement is filing for a common homestead which is the closest thing to marriage… but he didn't have that. He had friends—a lot of them. But no partner. And a very cantankerous cat named Socrates… I'm going to end up with him as well if we all survive this…"

Marín began trembling slightly. They had found themselves away from the crowd and beside a liberator. He realized that she may have been moving them both away from the crowd even though he was the one who had originally turned her away. Stukov guided her by the elbow around the side of the liberator, taking them out of line of sight of the crowd.

"Are you okay?" He said, taking her loosely by the wrists.

"I'm fine," she said, looking away.

"No, you are not," he said. He pulled her gently to him, giving her a hug. "Hey, it's all right. We'll make it… and I'm sure there's no one he'd rather have the flag—or his cat."

She regained her composure.

"I guess we're both losing it this week."

"Hey," Vermaak said, rounding the nose of the liberator, "Hey, what are you doing?" Stukov still had his arms lightly around her. Marín stepped back from him and he pulled away. Stukov looked at him, annoyed. It was a private moment that he had interrupted. _Who does he think he is treating her that way? Her father?_

"This is none of your business, Vermaak."

"Like _hell_ it isn't!"

"Wynand…" Marín said tersely, "Don't start."

"She's my _partner_."

"Partner?" Stukov said, surprised. He took a step back from her.

"Yeah, so maybe get your claws off of her."

"Wynand, it's a funeral. He was being nice."

"My ass he was."

"You two are involved?"

"Marín, come with me."

"No, you've had too much to drink. I'll talk to you later."

Vermaak hesitated, trying to stare her down.

" _Go_ , Wynand."

Vermaak skulked away.

"He has the _worst_ timing."

"Why didn't you tell me he was your… partner?"

"He usually likes to keep that under his hat… I wouldn't say it's not _allowed_ in our military, but it's definitely not totally okay either. Vermaak believes I would… hinder his ability to rise in the ranks. You must have really seemed like a threat… I don't know why."

"He most likely is just worried about your safety."

"I'm a trained naval officer," Marín said, "I can take care of myself. I think this is more about his reputation…"

"Surely it is not."

Marín sighed and was quiet for a moment. "I wish Thierry was still here… He was a good mentor… someone I could talk to about anything…"

"I'm here. I'm not your superior, but…"

"Aren't I supposed to be here for _you_?"

"We can support each other." Stukov said, "Unless you think that will strain your relationship with Vermaak."

"Our relationship is already strained," she said darkly. She looked beyond him back at the crowd. Stukov followed her gaze and saw Vermaak watching them from afar.

"Then I'll let you get back to him."

"Yeah, I probably should…" Marín walked away, leaving Stukov standing alone by the liberator. He wondered how much Vermaak knew—whether he was still afraid that he would infest her or if he knew he was attracted to her.

Having accomplished what he had set out to do, but being ultimately thwarted, he decided to leave, putting his hat on and hoping to make an inconspicuous exit. He was frustrated in more ways than one and angry. _Why didn't she tell me? Why didn't I see it before? It now seems obvious… I am a such an idiot…_ Stukov was steps from the door when the red-haired woman from before slid in front of him so quickly he almost walked into her. She was trailing Horner by the wrist. Stukov looked at both of them with annoyed curiosity. Horner rolled his eyes and mouthed what Stukov assumed was "sorry."

"Can I help you?"

"I finally found you, tall, dark, and Brood War… I was hoping to be introduced."

Horner sighed heavily.

"Mira Han, this is Admiral Alexei Stukov, formerly of the Directorate _Expeditionary Fleet_ , now… independent. Admiral Stukov, this is Mira Han, mercenary leader. She's a personal… friend… of mine that I've called in to help us."

"I'm his ex-wife," she said, grinning. Stukov couldn't tell if she was joking. Horner didn't dispute it. "It's good to meet you, Admiral Stukov." Han relinquished her hold of Horner and waved him away, offering her hand to Stukov. Horner quickly escaped but mouthed "no" and made a "cut it short" gesture near his neck for him to not go any further with her. He looked at Horner with confusion, removing his hat again, and taking her hand.

"Likewise, Ms. Han."

"Mira is fine. May I call you Alexei? Or do you go by Alex or something?"

"Alexei is fine."

"Alexei… I like that… rhymes with sexy."

Stukov didn't know how to respond to that.

"Mm…" She looked him up and down. "Directorate uniforms do fit snugly, don't they?" He looked down at himself out of reflex. She was right, in a way. His dress uniform was more tailored than the one that he usually wore. "Especially where it counts." As he took his hand away, he subconsciously covered the front of his pants with his cap, blocking her gaze.

"Are you trying to pick me up… at a funeral?"

"We both don't know this person… we're here to be polite. What's the harm if we have a little fun afterwards?"

"I'm not interested in a relationship with you, Mira."

"I didn't say anything about a _relationship_ … more like… a quick romp in a liberator perhaps?"

Stukov was shocked by her forwardness, but even more shocked that he was considering it. With a relationship with Marín off the table, why shouldn't he take whatever offer comes his way? In some respects he felt he should take advantage of Abathur's "euphoria."

"Ah, you're hesitating. That means yes."

"I don't think so, Mira." Stukov gazed fleetingly at Marín. Han turned to see what he was looking at.

"Ah, I see… You like them a little more… straight-laced."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mm. I don't blame you. I'd let her squeeze me with those muscular thighs."

"Excuse me? I don't think we have the relationship where we can have this kind of conversation," Stukov said, his voice slightly raising.

"I guess we could have a threesome… Well, okay… you've talked me into it."

"May I remind you _again_ that we are _attending a funeral_ ," Stukov said loudly. Horner noticed something was amiss and began walking quickly over.

"Eh, when you don't get out much, you have to take your opportunities where you can."

Horner grabbed Han by the wrist and led her away.

"Mira, have you ever met Valerian Mengsk?"

"Yes…"

"Well, why don't you meet him again!"

Glad to be away from Mira, Stukov walked again towards the hangar bay door. But he felt Vermaak's blackness again. As the hangar door closed behind him, he found Vermaak in the corridor outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Back to my ship. Isn't that where you would rather I be?" Stukov said over his shoulder as he passed Vermaak.

"Fine. But we need to get one thing straight. I know what you're up to."

"Oh? And what is that?"

"I know why you did this to yourself. And god love her, Marín is oblivious. She can't read people—or she can but thinks the best of them. I'm not sure which it is with you, but it's pretty obvious to me what you want."

"Really?" Stukov said, feigning nonchalance, "Why don't you tell me so I will know as well?"

"Stay away from her, Stukov. What did you think? You could take her away from me?"

Stukov pushed into his mind, not caring anymore about his privacy. _This is_ not _just about Marín_. But he was disjointed and had the wherewithal to not think about what he was feeling. He felt subterfuge there. He was hiding something, and it was making him paranoid—and that was why he was reacting so harshly to him. _I should rattle him… like Abathur did to me… he may give something away._

"Are you sure that it's me—and not Renata?"

"What?"

"I don't know," he said, shrugging, "she seems receptive. She came to me first… in a revealing dress. She seemed grateful to me for rescuing her… _very_ grateful. I _was_ there for her when you weren't…"

As he had predicted, Vermaak lost control of his thoughts. Stukov saw something, but then an intense wave of emotion washed through his mind and almost overwhelmed him. He was unprepared when Vermaak launched himself at him, knocking him backwards and onto the ground. Stukov struggled to get him off but didn't want to hurt him by using his infested arm. He could easily kill him accidentally. Stukov was larger than Vermaak, but the smaller man's center of gravity was very low. He was small and over-muscled— _Like a pitbull… and as tenacious._ Stukov only succeeded in getting partially up again before Vermaak picked him up in a wrestling hold and threw him back on his stomach, landing back on top of him near enough to the hangar door that it opened automatically.

Stukov heard worried shouts. People could see what was going on: him on the floor wrestling with Vermaak. Stukov resorted to getting his human arm free and elbowing him in the head, allowing him to scramble away for a few seconds. But Vermaak was on him again, trapping his arm in another wrestling hold, his boot against the back of his head. Stukov thought he should have realized he was a wrestler by his stature and _not_ let him get him on the ground. He growled in frustration at not being able to move. Security guards pushed through the crowd, but when they saw their boss restraining an ally, they were unsure how to react. Finally, Marín burst through the semicircle that had formed around them.

"Wynand!" Marín yelled, pulling at Vermaak, "Get _off_ of him!" The security officers finally reacted and began peeling Vermaak off Stukov. When Stukov rolled over and saw Vermaak, the general was purple with rage. But even so, he had controlled himself, not hurting Stukov, just restraining him in an uncomfortable way to show dominance. "What is wrong with you? Getting in a fight at Thierry's funeral? Really?"

"It's fine, Renata. I'm leaving," Stukov said, brushing himself off. "I don't want to upset anyone." This seemed to cause something to break in Marín, and he wasn't sure what. She hardened suddenly.

"I'll walk you out."

"Renata…" Vermaak said.

"General, unless you want to spend the night in the brig, I'd advise you to shut the hell up." Marín took Stukov by the arm and led him away.

"What happened?"

"He confronted me… here in the hallway."

"As if he didn't make his point earlier…"

"I confess that I goaded him."

"Why would you do that?" He didn't want to tell her the real reason—that he had seen something in his mind that he did not understand: Vermaak at a terminal, a message, and then erasure.

"I was… angry I guess…"

"That's not a good excuse—for either of you."

They continued on in silence. Stukov wanted to ask her many questions, but most of them would seem rude. He wanted to know how they, of all people, were together, how long they had been in a relationship, and why she thought it necessary to hide her relationship from him. _But she wasn't hiding it. We don't know each other that well… and she claims Vermaak is who wanted to keep it a secret. I want it to have been_ her _secret. Then there would have to be a reason—she harbored feelings for me._

At the starboard hangar, Stukov stopped at the door with Marín.

"I'm… sorry about tonight…"

"Don't be." Marín sighed. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Stukov chuckled.

"He'd have to try harder than that to hurt me."

"So I gathered…" Stukov turned to go and Marín grabbed his sleeve. "Look, I'm sorry everything is such a mess. This is not what I wanted. You've been very kind to me and you don't deserve it…"

"Thanks…"

"Goodnight… I'll see you tomorrow?" Stukov nodded to her and walked into the hangar bay. As he ripped biohazard plastic off his shuttle once again, he felt defeat. Marín wasn't his. She wasn't even available. And though Vermaak had gotten the best of him—and he had allowed it—Stukov had gotten little in return. In his short experience with telepathic and empathic abilities, he had not experienced a human with the depth of negative emotion that Vermaak had. And what he had seen bothered him. As he made his way back to the _Aleksander_ , he pored over it. But the text was indistinct. _Why is this something that would cause him shame? What was the message?_ There was no way to know. and it frustrated him. As the shuttle landed, he examined his own motivations. _Is there really something there, or do I want there to be? I want Vermaak to have something to hide. I want Marín's relationship to fail. No good can come of me pursuing this if it is false._ But still it gnawed at him.

Back in his quarters, he allowed himself to emotionally process the day—the funeral that was so different from his own, what he _should_ have known about Marín and Vermaak, the fight, and the changes that Abathur had made to him that were affecting him in ways that he did not anticipate. He was angry at Han for preying on his obvious vulnerability, at Vermaak for his hostility and need for dominance, and also at Marín—though he knew it was unfair—for not telling him about her relationship with Vermaak. He thought about how many times that she had touched him—his hand, his arm, his chest. She had even caressed his face. _Was she purposefully leading me on?_ He asked himself. But he knew that wasn't true. She was kind and empathized with him—or pitied him. _I was right all along… I am a fool mistaking kindness for interest_.

In the darkness of his small bedroom, he began taking off his jacket. It slid off easily; he opened the closet door and hung it inside. As he did, he caught his reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door. He didn't recognize the man there—it was both not the man he was or the monster had had become. The changes Abathur had proposed he should make—and that Stukov had agreed to—had been for Marín. And he knew that Abathur had made some additional, illicit changes; Stukov could feel it. _Euphoria. That was his euphemism for it. I feel like I'm rutting like some goddamn animal._

Stukov saw no way around the fact that Marín was married _Or 'partnered,' or whatever the Umojans call it_. It was enough for him to break off his pursuit. But the Swarm thought differently, urging him to fight Vermaak, kill him, take her for himself, and protect her. With a burst of frustrated anger, he slammed the closet door closed. The heavy mirror bounced loudly against the door inside and shattered. Stukov sat back heavily on the bed, his head in his hands. He needed to regroup. He couldn't make an enemy of Vermaak and he couldn't conveniently get him out of the way either, though he had many opportunities while chasing Grellna and would have many more. But he identified with him despite it all as a soldier and a man who was fiercely overprotective of his wife.

 _Protective…_ Something in Stukov clicked. He sat up straight, again focusing on the image he had taken from Vermaak's mind. Now that he had an idea what the text could be, he could see some of it. It wasn't letters, it was a string of numbers. _Requisition codes—that's what they are. That son of a bitch! He's the one!_ But he knew that alone would not be enough evidence. It was circumstantial, _but circumstances speak loudly here… The numbers and the context of his emotional outbursts… It all points to his guilt: he supplied Marín's requisition codes to Valerian. He wanted to protect her by taking her wraith, but instead he put her in harm's way._ It was obvious to him, but he could come to _no one_ with this evidence. It was too ephemeral; "I saw it in his mind" would easily be dismissed. He wondered how Vermaak had avoided detection, but then he realized he was probably leading the investigation into the code leak in the first place. Now that he knew what had happened, he needed hard evidence. Stukov needed someone that he could trust, who cared about Marín's welfare over Vermaak's, and someone who had access to records.

Stukov stalked into his living room and to his desk, sliding into his chair and activating his console.

"Adjutant, what time is it?"

"The time is 2301 hours."

 _That's not too late…_

"Adjutant, call the _Uhuru_ 's switchboard."

" _Uhuru_ main. What can I do for you, Admiral Stukov?"

"Can you connect me with Lieutenant Achille Barre?"

"Of course, Admiral." There was a moment of dead air. When the line picked up again, it was Barre pulling a t-shirt over his head. On it was a very grim-looking skull and what Stukov assumed was the name of a band.

"Admiral? Why are you calling me? Can you not get in touch with Fleet Admiral Marín?"

"I'm sure I can, but I wanted to speak to you, Lieutenant. Is this line secure?"

Barre's eyes darted away, and he made a few taps on his console. The image shimmied slightly then stabilized.

"It is now… What do you want?" he said, appraising Stukov.

"It is my understanding that you are privy to all of the _Uhuru_ 's incoming and outgoing communications… Is that correct?"

"Well, I don't monitor them actively, but they are logged and recorded automatically, and I have access… I only pull them if there's a reason to do so."

"Good. It is as I thought. I need you to find something."

"What?" Barre said loudly. He looked around as if he thought there might be someone hiding and listening. Barre leaned forward towards the console's receiver and spoke quietly into it. "I'm not going to let you listen in on a private conversation," Barre hissed.

"I don't expect you to do so. I instead want you to… investigate some records. And make your own conclusions."

"What do you mean?"

"I have a… hunch about who gave out the Fleet Admiral's requisition codes. I want you to review all communications around that time."

"I handed all those records over to General Vermaak. I'm sure he analyzed all of them in every detail… Admiral Marín _is_ his partner, you know." Stukov grimaced slightly at the reminder.

"I want _your_ eyes on it, Barre. You're the specialist. I'm also not sure that Vermaak would come to the records… unbiased."

Stukov knew that he would understand _a_ subtext but probably not _the_ subtext that was the true one. Barre would think the bond between Marín and Vermaak was impeachable. He would have to manufacture another one that was more palatable.

"Unbiased? What do you mean?"

"I think the real culprit is obvious… and is already subdued. But revealing that will give some peace of mind to the Fleet Admiral, yes?"

"You think Oyaleni…?" He considered this for a moment. "She wasn't onboard, but she could have remotely accessed the computer banks here… she certainly has the clearance. But I don't know how she would get the codes…"

"We don't need that. We just need the transmission."

"Right. Right! But what about Vermaak?"

"I'm sure he was ordered by Oyaleni to cover up her crimes. He likely had no choice in the matter."

Barre thought about this. He seemed to be convincing himself. Stukov knew he would not have believed the truth—that Valerian had approached Vermaak and preyed on his insecurities to get the codes from him. _I'll let the facts lead him to the true culprit_.

"I'll… take a look, I guess."

"Good. You don't have to tell me what you find… But if you need advice…"

"Believe me, if I find anything, you'll know—one way or another."

"Then you will report it?" Stukov was surprised he was so eager to run it up the flagpole, but he guessed he shouldn't have been. From what he had seen, Barre seemed to have a taste for drama—and a distaste for Vermaak.

"Of course! What's the point if not?"

"Then we understand each other. Happy Hunting, Lieutenant."

Stukov turned off the comm and leaned back in his wingback chair, pushing away from the desk. He rubbed his hands together gleefully, wondering how long it would take Barre to find what he was looking for. _Will he start now?_ He wondered. _No, tomorrow. He was getting ready for bed._ But what he had told him may have been irresistible to him. Barre did seem to be interested in intrigue. He found himself impatient. He knew what uncovering the truth would mean—Vermaak would be facing a court martial. _And his deception will destabilize—or maybe even end—their relationship_ , he thought. _But Barre will have to find something first…_ Stukov thought about the fallout. He didn't know what Marín would do, but if their relationship ended… _She could fall_ right _into my arms,_ he thought, reaching out with both like he was catching her, frowning at his mutated arm. But he felt bad for thinking it. She would suffer immensely from the betrayal. It might be a long time before she was ready for a relationship again. _Or not. She seemed to imply their relationship was rocky. And some people tend to take a "rebound." I'll take what I can get_ , he thought.

He couldn't decide what to do with himself in the meantime. He could help Abathur and Iszha prepare the brood, but he didn't feel like submerging himself in the Swarm. _Not now. Not when…_ He wanted to see his current gambit through. He felt suddenly weary again. _Maybe I can… sleep on it._


End file.
